The Mountains of Winter
by Labyrinth Fae
Summary: Robert Baratheon wins the war and marries Lyanna. After his wife passes away from illness, his Hand, Jon Arryn follows a few years later. Tension ignites in the kingdom when Ned refuses Robert and this does not sit well with Crown Prince Steffon who will never forget that the Starks stole Lady Arryn from him.
1. Chapter 1

_Jeyne_

Rain pattered down on the rooftops of King's Landing like the thrumming of little drummers. Hooves clicked against the cobblestone and in spite of the sallow weather, Flea Bottom was infested with peasants who were going about their daily lives, mucking around in piss and shit mixed with rain. Rather befitting weather, Jeyne thought, as she toward the Red Keep. In her childhood, she'd grown in those beautiful and elegant halls. No one ever warned you that as lovely as they were, eyes watched through walls and nothing was secret. Her father had been wise in sending her away once she had flowered, disliking the way the prince was eying her. Back in the Eyrie she learned to manage her family's bannermen and worked on relationships in the Vale.

Now it had come to this. Her father had been old, but not in poor health aside from his missing teeth. Flanked by sworn Royce knights, her eyes listed up the hill. Even if it was the horse climbing toward the Great Sept of Baelor, each step was agonizing. Especially with the knowledge that her step-mother would not be there to lay her father to rest. Tension had always been thick between them, but Lysa's actions had always been questionable. The Tully woman had intercepted Jeyne on the way from the Vale, screeching like a bat out of hell about Jon being murdered.

_I've always hated her and not without good reason, _Jeyne thought as her fingers tightened around the reins of her palomino. Lysa's loathing for Jeyne, the daughter of Jon Arryn's second wife, had known no bounds. Everyone knew that the relationship between Jon and Lysa had been loveless, seeing how large a gap in age laid between them. Lysa only produced one child, her sickly brother Robert, who she coddled and nursed as if he were still a babe. Her excuse for missing Jon's funeral was that she wanted to protect Robert and entreated Jeyne to come back to the Vale where it would be safe.

Viewing her words as the ravings of a madwoman, Jeyne rode hard with an ensemble of her most trusted knights from the Vale. Many of which wished to pay their own tributes to her father, also somber and solemn in the rain as pale cloaks plastered to their armor. Rising in the distance was Visenya's Hill and an area encapsulated by white marble. Commoners trotted alongside of them, some wishing to espy the grand funeral and have a chance to enjoy just a taste of what nobles experienced everyday.

Even the gardens wept around them, rain trickling down the flowers and leaves, causing the vegetation to sag depressedly under its weight. Spanning in front of the small entourage was the Sept, past the grand statue of Baelor, was an impressive massive dome with seven crystal towers. Unfortunately, they had not been the first to arrive, the snowy white cloaks of the King's Guard sectioning off the entrance to the Sept, keeping the common people back as the royal family glittered in their insipid radiance.

"My lady," Ser Andar began, eyes listing toward the princes and then back to the Arryn.

"We knew we would have to meet them. Just keep close to me. Have the Frey boy watch the horses so we can pay our respects," Jeyne directed sternly before dismounting her horse.

Ser Andar directed Alyn Frey in watching the horses before flanking close to Jeyne along with his brother Robar and Ser Jasper Redfort. None of the Vale-men enjoyed being outside the mountains and even less so around the royal family. Many of them had been in Jon Arryn's service, but were returned home and rotated between due to the extended period of time Jon spent in King's Landing as the Hand of the King. Ser Andar had always been with Jeyne, from when he was first knighted and she was just a child, up until now. She trusted his brother and Ser Jasper as well, but Ser Andar was like an uncle to her.

His disdain toward the royal family was blatant as they approached King Robert Baratheon. The king was a large man, still possessing the impressive physique from his youth when he took the thrones from the Targaryens to retrieve his stolen love, Lyanna Stark. After marrying Lyanna Stark, they had four children; three boys and one girl. Lyanna's death had come to as a shock when she fell ill. Jeyne recalled the letters from her father about how obstinate Robert had been about burying her. Eddard Stark was insisting that his sister's bones be sent to Winterfell so they could rest in the crypts and Robert was tugging the opposite way, demanding that she be buried where flowers could grow over her grave and the sun could smile upon her. In the end, Jon had convinced Robert to send Lyanna to Winterfell where she belonged.

A slight beer gut was a testament to the king's depression since losing his beloved wife. His eldest son, Steffon, stood beside him in a black doublet and trousers, his obsidian hair outshining the inkiness of his attire. A few years younger than Jeyne, the prince had an appetite like his father, the only difference aside from age was that Steffon hadn't been raised hearing the word 'no'. Thus when Jeyne had given him that answer, Steffon had been rapt with the infamous Baratheon fury. He wasn't the only reason for Jeyne not wishing to be in King's Landing, but certainly the primary.

His other siblings were Prince Edric, a more mild mannered and Stark-like boy of no more than 15 years past. He possessed a longer face and grey eyes, standing patiently for the ceremony to begin. Beside him was his sister, Argella, with her long thick ringlets of midnight. In her hand was the youngest prince, Beron, who was distraught by the rain soaking through his finery.

Princess Argella noticed the approach of the Arryns first, turning Beron around so that he could see them approaching. At only six years old, Beron gasped in delight, seemingly forgetting about the rain as he gazed up imploringly at the knights that were beside Jeyne. He had been little more than a babe when she last saw him and thus he did not recognize her. Argella on the other hand brightened, her grey Stark eyes smiling as wide as her lips as she embraced Jeyne without an afterthought.

"It has been too long Lady Jeyne. I wish you would come to visit more often," the princess pouted after releasing Jeyne from her firm grasp. "I'm sorry about the circumstances which bring you here today."

"Me too," Jeyne glanced up at the Sept, the rainbow seven pointed star winking against the entrance.

"Jeyne!" King Robert boomed, his voice like a clap of thunder as he barreled toward her. Very much like his daughter, he didn't ask permission or wait until she was prepared, squishing her in an even tighter embrace than Argella. Trying not to make her disdain clear for the inappropriate sign of affection she gave a the king a weak smile when he set her back down on her feet. "How are you faring? It's been a long time since we've seen you."

"I am… as well as a daughter can be when she travels to her father's funeral," Jeyne answered honestly. "And he assigned me to take care of the Vale while he was Hand. My duty was at the Eyrie-"

"A boring job, certainly when compared to the courts of King's Landing," Robert waved dismissively.

"Lady Jeyne did a spectacular job growing into the position of Warden of the East in her father's stead. She even managed alliances with the hill tribes, your grace," Ser Robar informed the king proudly, bristling in defense of his late lord's eldest child.

"No doubt, Jeyne was always a clever and diplomatic girl. Getting a few wildlings to bend to her whim must have been child's play," Robert said, the topic greatly disinteresting to him.

"Took a few Arryn arrows to convince them," Ser Andar added.

"You've taken up the bow?" Robert arched a brow at her, for the first time intrigued that there was a little bit of bloodshed to go along with the boring management job they had been praising her for.

"Perhaps I can divulge the details later, your grace. We are here for another purpose," Jeyne reminded him sternly.

"Ah," Robert was avoiding the topic of Jon's death. "Yes… I suppose we best get this over with. Did you happen to pass Lady Lysa on the way from the Vale?"

"She does not intend on coming, but does want my father's bones returned to the Eyrie," Jeyne told him brusquely. Lysa's paranoia vexed her along with her blatant disrespect, abandoning her late husband's remains in King's Landing. By now, her father's body had been embalmed and dressed, but would still show decay as too many weeks had passed. If Lysa was not going to be at the funeral, Jeyne certainly would, even if it took a considerable amount of time to get there.

"Never liked her," Robert commented, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. "The High Septon is waiting inside. Doesn't want to get his crown wet or some bullshit like that."

Jeyne grimaced as they joined the other members of the royal family. Fortunately, no one else stopped her from taking the steps up to the Sept. Her fingers trembled as she climbed, approaching the door where her father would be laying. Worry filled the pit of her stomach and even with the king's arm around her for comfort, she felt cold and distant. She had hoped her father would live long enough to eventually see her married. Always doting, Jon and Jeyne had been close. Perhaps another reason for Lysa's disdain toward her. He had never thought much of marriage proposals and was pushing Robert to choose another Hand so that he could retire and make his decision on who was worthy of Jeyne's hand. Years slipped by and Jeyne became older than most girls when they married, seeing 20 name days pass.

The grand doors were flung open and the statues of the Seven surrounding a chamber where an altar was positioned in the center. Jeyne paled when she saw the body of her father, her mind working in overtime as each step toward him was agonizing. She had promised herself that she would not cry, but as she approached the body of Jon Arryn her resolve crumbled like a sand castle again the climbing tide. The man on the altar did not look like her father. He appeared significantly older, skin the color of milk. The embalming had preserved him this long, but not without repercussions. The makeup the Silent Sisters had applied had seeped into his flesh and some was beginning to slough off as his skin began withering.

He laid there in his practical armor. He's always hated anything that florid in decorations, believing the extra weight bogged him down. A sky blue cloak fluttered beneath him, splaying out like great wings. His eyes were covered by the painted stones, staring emptily up at the ceiling.

No one said a word as they stood around the altar. The scent of formaldehyde was strong and it choked up Jeyne's nostrils as she stared at him, blinking the tears back from her eyes. He had lived a long, successful life, no one could argue otherwise… But why did this all feel so wrong? Lysa and Robert should have been there.

Resentment pooled in her belly along with the grief. The royal family paid their respects, but Jeyne remained, her legs as solid as the stone mountains of the Vale. Time ceased to flow as she looked at the body that had been her father's. So many questions collected in her head that she wished she could ask him.

"My lady," Ser Ardan was entreating her, rousing her from the vigil she stood.

Her eyes set to him, bright and haughty at his interruption.

"You've been standing here for hours. Perhaps you should rest," he suggested lightly in reflection of the venomous glare she gave him.

"I-" she began crossly before glancing around. Only the Vale knights and Jeyne remained in the Sept.

Ser Ardan rested a hand gently on her back. "King Robert has offered us rooms for as long as we need them, though I know-"

"No, we will stay in a tavern," she replied stubbornly.

"And he also trusted me with this. Your father left a will," Ser Ardan pulled a dry roll of parchment from his cloak and offered it to Jeyne, the falcon sigil of House Arryn winking in the candle light of the church.

"Thank you, Ser Ardan," she muttered, wrath relenting as she accepted the roll. He bowed his head respectfully and stepped away to give her a moment alone. Breaking the wax seal, she unfurled the silver ribbon and read the declaration.

'_This will is the will and word of Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, and Hand of the King. I hereby declare that my lands and titles shall succeeded by my only son and heir, Robert Arryn. In which, Lord Yohn Royce will act as Lord Regent of the Vale until he comes of age. My daughter, Jeyne Arryn, is to be fostered at Winterfell, under the care of Lord Eddard Stark, until a proper arrangement for her hand has been made at her bequest._'

Her fingers curled around the parchment, fraying it before she glanced down at her father. Winterfell? She had been there a handful of times over the course of the life to visit Lord Eddard and his family at her father's request, but she never would have thought he would send her there in this manner. Realization dawned on her. In his final moments, he was protecting her from one of the boys he'd raised at the Eyrie. King Robert would not request she stay in King's Landing if the Jon's will stated she was under Eddard Stark's care. Even if King's Landing had more amenities and was more hospitable, she much preferred the solidarity of Winterfell to this accursed place.

_He also doesn't want me with Lysa,_ she thought, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes as she glanced down at him. The stones had been painted to reflect the blue eyes her father had, but they were the wrong shade. His eyes had been a vivid sky blue, not lapis lazuli. "Always thinking about me, even in your final moments," she whispered and now that she was alone with him, she let them flow unhindered. Rolling down her fair cheeks, she stared at him through bleary eyes. "I loved you father, _so _much. I just wish I could have been closer and with you in your final moments."

Would he be proud of her? What would she do now that she wouldn't be overseeing the Vale? The power she had been afforded made her smile through her tears. "At my own bequest? How am I supposed to find a man who rivals you?" she mumbled, pulling out a damp cloth from her cloak to wipe her face. "I'm going to take you home."

_Catelyn_

News of Jon Arryn's death had traveled swiftly to Winterfell, reflected by a few days of summer snow. None of the children understood why their father brooded more than usual, but Catelyn was aware that Jon had been a second father to him. Within the last handful of years passed, he had lost not only Lyanna, but now Jon. His death was compounded with the news that King Robert was prowling north to ask him a question that posed to tear their family apart. She and Ned had already discussed the idea of King's Landing and were fast against the idea. Winterfell needed Eddard with winter creeping up on the long summer. Jon's will had also reached them and with the Vale in good hands, Catelyn was contemplating what she would do with the Arryn girl once she arrived with the king's entourage.

Preparations for the king fell on Catelyn as the lady-wife. Eddard had other duties to tend to including addressing the worries, doubts, and qualms of his lords and common folk. Along with the help of maester Lewin, she had drafted up what livestock they would need to serve the large host backing King Robert. Winterfell wasn't a sight for sore eyes, but Catelyn had work diligently to see that all of the keep had been cleaned and maintained. It was her own children she had to scold for tracking mud and debris into the fresh stone halls.

With late summer came the blooms of herbal flowers. Catelyn arranged bouquets of many variations that would decorate the chairs, the centerpieces of tables, and the garlands that had been hung. Each were made with a base of juniper branches, acting as a soft bed for wolfsbane, violet lupines, and holly leaves dotted with crimson berries.

Septa Mordane had the girls working hard on their new gowns for when their cousins arrived. None of the Stark children had met with their royal counterparts in recent history and many of them had been too young to recall when Lyanna went north with her children about a decade ago. Sansa was aflame with excitement, tittering brightly like a little song bird as she worked diligently on the embroidery on her grey-blue dress she had sewn entirely on her own. Catelyn's heart swelled at the sight of her beautiful, 14 year old daughter, who was adjusting nicely into her maidenhood.

With soft rolls of Tully auburn, Ned often spoke on how Sansa looked just like Catelyn in her youth. River blue eyes creased in excitement and she was entirely fixated on making certain she looked a proper lady when the royal family and their convoy arrived. Sansa recited the southern houses to Septa Mordane over and over again, so that she wouldn't forget any banner, no matter how little. In her romantic, naive heart, dreams of the southern knights danced around her. Catelyn knew her idea of a knight was skewed, but she didn't have the heart to tell Sansa. Ned would find her a suitable husband who would treat her properly.

Arya on the other hand sulked while trying to embroider her dress. Catelyn felt for her youngest daughter, but there simply wasn't any effort being put in. With the Stark wildness in her, Arya was her only child that had any of Ned's looks. All the rest of her children had the Tully auburn hair and river blue eyes. Willful and despising her lessons, Arya was more prone to sneaking off instead of attending her studies with Sansa and Jeyne Poole. The girl would only listen to her father and the bastard, Jon Snow, and thus Catelyn's words of scolding fell on deaf ears. With her flowering approaching rapidly, Arya needed to get her act together so that Ned could contemplate where she might fit.

Catelyn had always suggested a place just as wild as she, perhaps Bear Island with the Mormonts?

Until this point, Catelyn had been working diligently and ceaselessly. Maester Lewin had noted this and suggested she take something to ease the amount of stress she was under. He followed her to the chambers she had arranged for Lady Jeyne Arryn, hoping to make the girl comfortable. Catelyn had not seen her own father, Hoster Tully, in a great deal of time, but the thought of losing him sickened her. Jeyne was her junior by nearly twenty years, but Hoster and Jon had been of similar ages. What if her own father was to follow closely behind his old friend?

When Catelyn had seen Jeyne last, she had been a little younger than Sansa was currently. Smoothing the quilt on the bed, she draped the soft wolf fur at the foot, Lewin commenting at her elbow, "My lady, leave this work to a servant. You have been without rest for days now, perhaps you should return to your chambers and have a proper meal."

He only cared for her, he wasn't trying to seem annoying, but Catelyn wanted her touch on the Arryn girl's room and not leave it up to some servant. After stocking up a sewing spindle and basket of supplies, Catelyn had been certain to pull the books about the Vale and collect them in a small case. Fresh candles had been laid out and the lanterns filled by Catelyn's hand and she had also laced a fine sky blue scarf in the clothing lattice that she had knit originally for Lysa. She expected the girl would not have packed enough layers and so she supplied some from her own stores.

"After I finish this," Catelyn told him obstinately, obsessively fussing over the way books were turned, the angle at which the blue wax was set on her desk, and turning the falcon feather quills out in their canister so that it was a perfect as a painting. "Where are the boys?" she asked Lewin, turning the nearby rocking chair that was situated near the window which had a splendid view of the Godswood. The misty, mineral filled hot spring pools produced a low fog and obscured many of the trees that arranged themselves thickly over a verdant blanket of grass. Winterfell was astoundingly comfortable within the walls of the Great Keep due to the hot springs that it was built upon. Pipes of hot water flowed like blood and veins in the walls and was a matter between life and death in the winter. These chambers might have been located in the Guest House, across the courtyard from the Great Keep, but there were several hot pools flanking the Guest House and it also remained warmed, though shy of her own chambers.

"Out in the yard training with Ser Rodrik. Robb and Theon both mentioned that they wanted to be prepared for the arrival of the royal party," a small smile pulled up at the corners of the maester's lips.

"You mean the ladies in company of the royal party," Catelyn corrected before surveying her work. "Those flowers will need to be changed if they don't arrive within the week," she observed stiffly, gesturing to the vase of lavender and marigold.

"Reports state that they should be here soon, my lady," Lewin informed her.

"And reports are often wrong. We were told they would arrive last week and here we are now," Catelyn reminded him before deciding that her work was completed until the arrival was set off for another week. "At this rate, I'll be surprised if they arrive before winter."

"Autumn is not yet in full swing, there are a few more years to this long summer," Lewin said, following Catelyn out of the room.

"And it is to be followed by an even longer winter," Catelyn droned, recalling the words of her lord husband. Winter is coming. Winter was always coming unless it was already winter, wasn't it? All the lords of the north were fretting over their upcoming harvests, worried that it would not be long enough for the winter they were about to face. Catelyn implored Ned to share the burden, so that she might help him decide what needed to be done, but he shrugged her off, aware that she was already spreading herself thin to prepare Winterfell. Which was certainly a large feat seeing the castle spanned several acres.

Instead of heading into the armory and taking the bridge between it and the Great Keep, she headed into the courtyard. Trampled down to dirt, Eddard had recently added packed rocks to restore some of the dip between the buildings and the yard after years of being worn and washed away. While the ground was more stable and firm, rock dust kicked up from horses and sparring men. Just outside the Guest House, juxtaposed was the armory, which all of her boys were located to also include the Greyjoy ward, Theon, and the bastard, Jon Snow. Four direwolves also sat nearby, quietly watching. The white one unnerved Catelyn.

Ignoring the bastard, Catelyn watched as Robb sparred with Theon. In the pit of her belly, something about the Greyjoy had always unsettled her. She was not so blind or ignorant to be unaware of his sexual prowess and taste for whores. Ned might have pushed the thought out of his mind, but Catelyn worried that Theon's questionable disposition. He and Robb were as thick as thieves, what if his delinquencies rubbed off on Robb?

Her eyes slid over to her eldest son, who despite his polar appearance to Ned, was very much like his father. A head full of dark auburn curls and a molted brown and red beard, Robb's river blue eyes glinted as brightly as the reflection of his steel in the light of the sun. Everytime she doubted him, he proved her wrong. Ned had already begun grooming him, taking him into his meetings with his bannermen and asking Robb what he would do or offer.

Theon and Robb circled each other, Bran sitting on a nearby hay bale beside Jon Snow as they watched the sparring. Ser Rodrik Cassel oversaw the battle between them. Ever eager to prove himself, Theon darted forward first, swinging the weighted wooden sword around. With a sharp clack, Robb defended himself and parried the onslaught of blows that Theon ravaged upon him. At any rate, Theon would get tired and sluggish, all Robb had to do was not be overwhelmed. Theon's true skill was with a bow, as he'd used it on several hunts and proven his aim was always true.

Robb led Theon back, as if the flurry of blows were causing him to retreat. The rhythmic clapping of wood took hold of the yard and Theon expelled more energy as he forced Robb back. At least, that was what he thought he was doing. Instead, Robb was leading him round in a circle, slowly but certainly, waiting until Theon took the briefest moments of reprieve. When Theon did, Robb feinted to his left and Theon snorted loudly, driving forward to deliver what he thought was the finishing blow. Robb instead swept his leg beneath Theon as he lunged forward greedily and sent the Greyjoy tumbling to the ground, not bothering to parry his blow which was a foot short from striking true.

Robb poised his practice sword down at Theon as he tried to sit up, fumbling for the sword that had slipped betwixt his sweaty fingers. Ser Rodrik, Jon, and Catelyn all applauded the show and Rickon squealed in delight at the move. Robb turned his sword away and pulled Theon back to his feet.

"Spectacular footwork, Lord Robb," Ser Rodrik said striding forward. "Do you see where your mistake was Theon? In your attacks you didn't notice that Robb was leading you round, causing you to be more unsteady on your feet. Posture and form is important, you cannot let your emotions get in the way of fighting or a simple sweep of the leg will be your demise."

Theon was nonplussed by the entire situation, knocked down a peg, but if it had to be anyone, he was glad it was Robb that had defeated him. "I know," he grumbled, casting his dark eyes away in a sulky manner.

Now that the mock battle had ended, Catelyn strode forward to approach her boys. Rickon hopped down from his perch and scurried over to her frantically, pressing his face into her skirts. A small breath escaped her lips as her youngest plowed into her followed by a gentle chuckle. Bending over, she picked him up, pushing back some of his auburn curls that were beginning to get out of hand. "You'll need a haircut tonight. You have to look your best when the king arrives," she told him, trying to manage the thicket. Her eyes swept over ther rest of the boys, quickly glazing past Jon. "Go and get cleaned up, your father wants everyone prepared for a dinner this evening. Robb, a moment?" she kissed Rickon on the cheek before sending him off with Bran.

Robb handed the practice sword back to Ser Rodrik and followed Catelyn through the courtyard and toward the library tower just south west of where they had been sparring, Greywind quick at his heels. He ran his fingers back through his sweaty curls and glanced inquisitively at his mother.

When Catelyn was pleased by the distance from the rest of the men, she spoke, "Your father has high expectations for you when King Robert arrives. I do not know if he has informed you, but Lady Jeyne Arryn will be staying in Winterfell for an extended period of time. She is of a similar age to you and your father has expressed that he would like you to make her comfortable; show her around the grounds, escort her to dinners, take her riding if she'd like to see the Wolfswood..."

Ned's intent had been that perhaps Robb would grow fond of the girl and she could stay in Winterfell permanently. Jon Arryn had given his daughter permission to make the choice of who she would marry, a luxury that high borne women were never afforded. A union between House Arryn and Stark only felt just to Ned, but the young falcon they had met many years ago had many years to change. Catelyn had sent a letter to Lysa, hoping to glean more about Jeyne, but had yet to receive an answer. Ned said that Jon had prized Jeyne above all else, even placing her in the seat of Warden of the East while he was in King's Landing. This meant that Jeyne was experienced in diplomacy and politics and might be able to help Robb grow in those aspects. Catelyn didn't want to make any arrangements or promise Robb anything for fear that the two might not get along, but Ned was hopeful.

"That sounds a lot like courting, mother," Robb pointed out kindly.

An exhausted smile cracked on her face as she glanced up at Robb. "Nothing is set in stone and learning how to treat young ladies will do you well. It is not often we have one staying here for such a long time and your father wants to make a favorable impression on Lady Jeyne. Seeing that two are the same age, he's passing that responsibility onto you."

"Spend time around Lady Arryn doesn't seem like a chore," Robb mused, flashing a smile at her.

"Seven years have passed since Lady Jeyne was last here, you two were still children. Age affects us all differently and Lady Jeyne spent her time in King's Landing and taking the reins of the Vale come her 14th name day. She certainly is not the same girl you may remember from Lyanna's visits," Catelyn persisted. To her, no woman would ever be good enough for any of her sons and she couldn't prevent herself from clucking like a mother hen. Her mind was automatically wired so that Lady Jeyne would have to prove herself worthy, but the girl's accomplishments certainly gave her a step above any other prospective brides for Robb.

"I know mother, I will be certain that Lady Jeyne is extended every courtesy of the Starks," Robb promised dutifully.

"Good," Catelyn sniffed before frowning. "Now go bathe, you smell like the kennels."

"Yes mother," Robb pecked her on the cheek before leaving Catelyn by the library tower. Speaking of the kennels, she could hear the hounds yipping in their cages excitedly. Now having Lewin off her case, Catelyn turned and headed for the Sept and an afternoon prayer.

The Old Gods were more prevalent in the north, given the huge forest that Winterfell had been built around. Still, a suitable Sept had been built for travelers and to accomodate people like Catelyn who had praised The Seven growing up. Septon Chayle was lighting a new flock of candles, replacing those that had guttered over into wax covered nubs. A servant was nearby to put the old candles in a recyclable bin where the remaining wax would be melted and shaped back into new candles.

"My lady," Septon Chayle greeted as he returned to meticulously lighting each of the hundreds of candles by hand.

The Sept was small in Winterfell and mostly forgotten aside from the time that Catelyn spent in it. Sansa would sometimes go with her and Septa Mordane, but she did not possess the same amount of faith as Catelyn. Instead of magnificent statues to depict each of the Seven, there were only small altars with effigies hewn in their likeness. Kneeling benches were position in front of each, with enough room for two or three people to squeeze onto. Catelyn took a long wooden stick and lit the end before brighting it to one of the dark Mother's candles.

Catelyn knelt in front of her, interlacing her fingers as she slipped deep into prayer regarding her family and her children. She wanted the best for all of them and she wanted Ned to stay in Winterfell. She prayed to the Mother that Lady Jeyne would be kind and intelligent, that Arya would behave when King Robert arrived, and that Sansa would get along with Arya until the king's departure. Her qualms may have seemed petty to those who worried about putting bread on the table every day, but they were her own. She hoped that the simplicity of her worries would be limited to just behavioral issues among her children.

Head bowed, Catelyn was only roused from her deep thoughts when Septa Mordane entered the Sept and approached her. "My lady," she greeted courteously as Catelyn's got to her feet, knees aching due to how long she had been praying. Half of the candle she had lit for The Mother had already melted away. The strong aroma of incense tickled the back of her throat, nearly causing her to sneeze.

"Septa Mordane... How did my daughters fair in their lessons today?" Catelyn inquired, noticing out the stained glass window that it was becoming dark.

"Sansa has done some exquisite needlework and is eager to wear her dress the evening of the feast. She and Jeyne Poole wish to impress the Baratheons. If you were to ask Sansa, she'd tell you that she doesn't have enough time to prepare for their arrival," Septa Mordane inclined, smiling softly at the thought of her model student. The expression was short lived as she had to continue onto the other daughter. "Arya on the other hand does still not possess even a wisp of her sister's talent and having issues with simple embroidery. Her head it elsewhere and it shows in the poor, incomplete work she has to show. Not to mention she still gives quite a bit of tongue back when reprimanded. Just today, when I was out of the room, I returned to Arya pulling Sansa's hair."

Catelyn hissed a sigh and nodded. "I apologize for her behavior. I'll speak with Ned about it."

"The girl will need the intervention of The Maiden to become a proper lady within just a few years time," Mordane told her, shaking her head.

"I know," Catelyn said before making her way toward the exit. "Have the girls prepared for dinner?"

"Yes, I sent them to bathe before returning here."

"Very good, have a nice evening Septa," Catelyn bid before she stepped out of the warm, crystal imbued Sept. The twinkling lights reminded her of Riverrun, a slice of her childhood stoked away in the cold Winterfell. She drew her cloak in at the summer's evening chill and hurried to the Great Hall, where dinner was to be held in preparation for the feast. A dry run without their men, the king's men, and Theon Greyjoy or Jon Snow. Just Catelyn, her husband, and their children.

Ned was the only one inside the Great Hall, the children yet to arrive for their meal. He had a few pieces of parchment scattered in front of him, Vayon Poole standing behind him, muttering a few things in advisement over the events of the day. Ned's eyes trailed upward to rest on Catelyn as she passed between the tables that had been set up within the grand hall in anticipation of Robert's arrival.

"Is it time already?" Ned breathed, collecting the parchment and heaving a sigh. "Vayon could you take these back to my study?"

"Of course, my lord. We shall talk more on the morrow in regards to what Lord Flint was requesting?" Vayon hastily removed the work from Eddard.

"Yes, over breakfast," Ned agreed, only standing once Vayon had departed from the hall. He strode over to meet Catelyn and kissed her, the stress of the day plastered on his long face. "How was your day?"

"Certainly more arbitrary than yours. What does Lord Flint want?" Catelyn followed him to the head table and sat beside him, placing a hand on his leg.

"The Ironborne are growing restless again and sending parties to his shores. He requested I send Stark men south to Flint's Finger to help address the pillaging of his towns," Ned explained, taking a hand and rubbing between his brows. Noticing his distress, Catelyn stood and placed her fingers against his shoulders and began massaging his stiff shoulders. Ned would never admit to taking on too much work, but Catelyn had learned to read him like a book.

Relaxing into her grasp, Catelyn continued. "Has Balon Greyjoy forgotten that we still have his son?"

"Theon has been here more than a decade, I grow to fear that Balon does not care for him anymore," Ned told her.

Catelyn pursed her lips. "He's lived here all his adult life. You know how the Ironborne are... It's likely that Balon believes his son is a Wolf now rather than a Kraken. Would that be too far from the truth? You've raised Theon among your sons."

"Then what leverage do we possess? I could threaten Theon's head, but-"

"No you could not," Catelyn interrupted. For as honorable as Ned Stark was, he would not punish Theon for the actions of his father, no matter what threats he sent Balon. "And to what end? If Balon tests your threats, could you deliver Ned?"

Ned remained silent at this, his silence reverberating through the halls until the great oak and iron doors creaked open and the Stark children began filing in. Catelyn relinquished her inquisition on the subject and gazed at her children as they approached. She bent down before they were close enough to mutter in Ned's ear, "You'll need to speak with Arya after. She had another fit today."


	2. Chapter 2

_Eddard_

Attacks on the western shores of his domain had Ned more preoccupied than the arrival of Robert and his nephews and niece. Thankfully Catelyn was overseeing the arrangements of the royal party as he racked his thoughts for an answer. Why would Balon Greyjoy be attacking him? He had Theon in his custody and for more than a decade, that had kept the Ironborne raiding at bay. There wasn't much time to dwell on Vayon's words in the morning, because during their breakfast, Jory Cassel entered to tell him that the king had been spotted from one of the watchtowers and was rapidly approaching Winterfell.

_So it begins, _he thought before heading to the courtyard. Jory would have no doubt been certain that the rest of the Starks had been located so that they could patiently await the royal family and their entourage to greet them by the East Gate. A fine fluffy slow spiralled down from the grey sky, most of which melted before it had the chance to blanket the ground. A minor summer snow to welcome King Robert. He saw that Catelyn had all his children towing the line from eldest to youngest. For a moment they appeared a perfect picture aside from Jon missing, probably watching nearby.

Catelyn was a sight to behold and Ned had always counted himself lucky despite the strife he had faced in life. She had a thick curtain of rich auburn hair that wafted down her back and her face was still barely touched by age as she neared her forties. Only the slight crinkle of crow's feet at the corners of her Tully blue eyes and laugh lines hinted that she was not in her prime. Robb flanking her looked more like a younger brother than her son. Ned considered himself rather homely looking when he stood next to his magnificent wife, the years of their union building their relationship link by link.

Sansa was the only female he'd seen who might rival Catelyn, an absolutely uncanny reflection of her mother when she had been young. His eyes turned to Bran and Arya, his other daughter who appeared as if she were going to bolt at any moment. The conversation he had with her last night had been promising, but then again, he thought that after each time he spoke to her. Arya had the wild Stark blood in her, just like Bran who also tested Catelyn. Finally, he stood beside them and waited in the chill summer air for the gate to open and his childhood friend to appear.

How many years had it been since he saw Robert? Lyanna had come to visit Winterfell more than he had, bringing the children up… That was before she became sickly and wasted away in King's Landing. Ned's fingers tightened around the hilt of Ice at the thought of Lyanna passing away so far from Winterfell. After all that she had been through, a war waged in her name, she had still been taken from them so young. Up in that tower he believed she was going to pass away while speaking to him, but the Gods had saved her so that she could bear children for Robert.

King Robert pranced in first on his horse. He was an enormous man with a wiry black beard, his hair thick on top and shorn shortly, a golden crown of antlers gracing his head. His heavy brows sagged over his striking blue eyes and his mustache twisted up to reveal pearly white teeth as he beamed at Ned, as if he had forgotten the bout between he and Ned over where Lyanna's bones would rest. An ornate carriage sidled up behind him, the only other Baratheon on a horse was his second son, Edric. Just seeing the boy made Eddard's heart stop, absolutely perplexed as he saw the ghost of his brother, Brandon, riding just beside Robert.

For his age and position, Robert was still in remarkably good health. His gut was only noticeable when he dismounted and his tunic strained slightly. "Ned!" he cried, swinging his leg over his stallion so that he could stand in front of the Starks. "Edric, get your siblings!" Robert demanded as he clapped a hand on Ned's shoulders.

His strength certainly remained, nearly causing Ned to take a step forward. "You look well… your grace," he told his old friend.

Robert scowled as his son went to retrieve the others. "Your grace?" he repeated slowly, a serious expression possessing him. Suddenly, he began chortling, holding his stomach. "Piss on that, Ned. I don't want to hear that awful title. I came here as your brother, not your king."

If only that were true and Ned wouldn't have to worry about the offer of Hand. Forcing a smile, he watched as the rest of his nephews exited the carriage and more of the royal party from King's Landing filed into the small courtyard by the gate. He nearly paled at how many had come with Robert, eyes catching the Arryn banner of sky blue with a soaring falcon. However, he did not have time to look much as he was approached by Princess Argella, who was supposedly just as hands on as her father.

"Uncle Ned!" she squealed before throwing her arms around his waist, her head of onyx ringlets against his chest. Last he had seen her she had been Rickon's age and now she had turned into a lovely southern maiden. Turning her grey eyes up to him he saw Lyanna in Argella. "I can't believe we're in Winterfell again! It's been so long."

"Yes it has," Ned couldn't hold back a chuckle, patting Argella's head. "You were just a little cub when I last saw you and now you're a woman grown."

Argella beamed at being called a woman and then glanced over at Catelyn, her next obsession. "Aunty!" Catelyn at least had warning before the princess attacked her with an embrace.

His nephews approached him next, headed by the eldest, Steffon. An arrogant look, reminding Ned of Robert, sat on the young man's face as he approached his uncle. Aside from Argella, Steffon was dressed the most ornate in an emerald doublet with a print of dancing gold crowned stags. A bright cloak of glittering gold spilled down his shoulders as if were molten and just poured over him, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he put his hand out for Ned to shake. "Uncle," Steffon greeted, his voice warm but his eyes not.

Ned clasped Steffon's forearm in a tight shake before Steffon moved on to greet the rest of the Starks. Following him was Edric, who also shook hands with Ned, but offered a much friendlier expression as he gazed curiously at his uncle. Beron he had yet to meet and the young boy didn't seem to know how to properly greet his uncle, just witnessing two different ways. Eventually, he sauntered forward and stuck his hand up toward the sky as he tried to reach for Ned's.

Laugh bubbling up from the back of his throat, Beron's eyes narrowed and he glared at Ned. He took a knee in front of the small prince so that they were eye to eye and took his hand. Ned adjusted it for him so that he was shaking properly and firmly grasped his tiny arm. "Uncle," Beron said formally, bright eyes bearing into Ned's.

Robert waited impassively as his children went through the Starks and then swept his eyes down the line. "Where did the time go?" the king wondered. "Wow, Robb you've certainly shaped up. I recall Lyanna telling me that you were going to grow into a strapping young lad."

"Thank you… your grace," Robb paused, not knowing how to address Robert.

"Uncle! I'm your uncle too, blast it," Robert scowled before turning to Catelyn. "It's been too long Cat," and brought her into an embrace too.

"Yes it has," Catelyn said stiffly, smoothing her skirts when she was released, a sideways glance going toward Eddard.

"Still as lovely as ever," Robert commented and then stepped down the line, greeting his nieces and nephews. However, the king had something else on his mind. "Ned let's take a walk. I would like to honor my wife."

Ned was not in a position to question him, but he glanced back toward the Arryn banners, reminded dully of Jon's will. "Is Lady Jeyne here with you?"

"Oh," Robert paused and glanced past the King's Guard. "Jeyne!" he thundered as if screaming would somehow summon the young woman.

Astoundingly, it did. A palomino trotted forward donning an Arryn cloth and a lady was poised on top of it. Quickly, a knight trotted beside her and Eddard recognized him as Ser Andar Royce. Jeyne Arryn was a slender lady with long light blonde hair streaked with sunlight that wafted down to her waist. Her almond shaped eyes were the pale Arryn blue like the skies above the Eyrie. Her lips were soft, rosy and upturned. Her expression was serious and difficult to read and Ned saw why Jon had been so worried about her. Jeyne Arryn was a beautiful and graceful lady, poised and articulate, certainly the envy of other women and the manner of fixation for men.

He noticed the horn of a bow on the other side of her horse and a quiver was poised close to her reins. Ser Andar dismounted and offered her a hand down. Lady Jeyne approached King Robert, a pale blue dress hugging her form. In her demeanor, her movement, Eddard saw Jon standing before him, not young Lady Jeyne.

"Lord Eddard," she began, walking toward him. "It is an absolute privilege to be here in Winterfell again."

"It is my honor to host you here, Lady Jeyne. It has been a long time since we've seen you and you have turned into a beautiful young lady," Ned told her, taking her soft, slender fingers in his and brushing the back of her hand with his lips. "How are you faring?"

A sad smile touched Jeyne's features. "As well as I can," she told him before glancing at Catelyn. "Lady Catelyn."

Any doubts his lady wife once had been tossed to the wind. Lady Catelyn greeted Jeyne like a forgotten daughter, her niece by law, in a warm embrace. Jeyne seemed taken aback by the action, but settled into Catelyn's arms, her expression dissolving to relief. Catelyn smoothed back Jeyne's hair and smiled at her, wiping tears from her river blue eyes. "Oh, you've grown so much," Cat's voice trembled with emotion. "And so beautiful. I wish you could have come to Winterfell as often as you used to."

"My duty was to my people in the Vale," Jeyne told her gently.

"Of course. Come, it's been a long time since you've seen Robb and Sansa," Catelyn led her away and toward the other Starks, leaving Eddard with Robert who was itching to get down in the crypts. Now that the introducations had been made, Robert waited like a child for name day presents. Deciding not to keep the king waiting, Eddard followed him past First Keep and the lichyard, where Stark servants of high repore were buried.

The crypts of Winterfell was guarded by an enormous pair of ironwood doors, protesting as Eddard pushed them, taking the nearby torch that was managed day and night so that if a Stark desired to travel to pay their respects, they would be able to with a light. A winding path of stone steps led down into granite chasm that expanded far beneath Winterfell. How far, no one truly knew, for the paths became a labyrinth and it was said that some had gotten lost in the various levels below. Ned had explored some of it in his youth before going to the Vale as a ward. Statues of lords passed were buried deeper, some so far that the tunnels had collapsed.

Tradition was that only Lords of Winterfell would have their likeness hewn of granite to sit on top of their tombs, but Ned had broken that tradition when he had commissioned statues for both Brandon and Lyanna. Robert halted in front of her statue, only the sound of his heavy breathing audible in the eerily quiet and solemn crypts. He reached forward and touched the foot of the stone, his massive hands curling around the stone as if his touch would reanimate her.

"A whole bloody war Ned," Robert muttered softly. In the crypt, he didn't need to speak loud, his voice bounced off on the walls around them. "And the bloody Grand Maester couldn't save her. She'll never see our children wed or our grandchildren."

Ned remained silent, uncertain how to comfort Robert. He may have looked like the man he went to war with, but something about Jon's will made him uncertain of that. King's Landing was like a courtesan, beautiful and bewitching, but beneath there was no commitment and a plethora of problems that hid behind a gorgeous smile. King's Landing changed people. That or they died there. Lyanna should have remained north.

"I still think she should have been buried south," Robert grumbled, rousing the argument they'd had years ago by raven.

"She would have wanted to be returned to Winterfell. She was a northerner," Ned insisted.

Robert whirled to meet him, eyes blazing as brightly as the fire Ned held in his hand. For a moment, he believed that Robert was going to reach for his hammer. "It's been difficult since she passed away. She always handled the children and now Argella had been trying to fill her shoes. She's a sweet girl, but I never intended for her to have to be a mother to her brothers. Beron especially… He was just a babe when she passed away and Argella refused to have a wet nurse do anything more than feed him."

"I know," Ned said finally, uncomfortably shifting as he stood in the crypt with Robert. He couldn't imagine Sansa in Argella's shoes, but the princess had been bright and smiling when she arrived.

"And Steffon!" Robert continued, turning back to gaze imploringly up at Lyanna's statue. "You warned me about that boy and I've done nothing to reign him in. I see myself in him, only he didn't go to the Eyrie to be fostered. Jon gave me a good kick in the ass and helped smarten me up, but Steffon hasn't had that chance."

"Send him to Dragonstone with Stannis," Ned suggested.

"He's too old now, I should have done it sooner."

Ned wasn't willing to offer his own home up, not after Robert had just stated that the boy was difficult.

"Perhaps he should marry, a woman would put him in his place," Robert speculated. "Lyanna did so with me."

Ned didn't believe Robert had the right order. A boy shouldn't be given a woman until he deserved one. The only reason it had worked with Robert was because he had a foundation to refer to. Jon Arryn had always been there to take Robert by the shoulders and voice what he was doing wrong.

"He's very fond of Jeyne Arryn."

The pieces of the puzzle were slowly sliding into place and Eddard felt he might know why Jon had sent his daughter away from King's Landing in the first place. "Jon wanted her to stay in Winterfell under _my _care," he reminded Robert gruffly.

"We could betroth her to Steffon. She's like a second daughter to me and Argella absolutely adores her," Robert continued as if he hadn't heard Ned.

"Her place is where her father requested it," Eddard repeated coldly, drawing a dirty look from the king. "Would you go against Jon's wishes?"

"No, I was only thinking of what would be best for the girl. She's a summer flower and doesn't need to be wasting away in these cold granite halls."

"She's a falcon, just like her father, and the mountains of the Vale are made of stone too. I do not believe she'll have a difficult time adjusting," Eddard put his foot down on the matter and Robert resorted to childish glares from the corner of his eye as they headed back topside. "Suitable chambers have been arranged for you. A grand feast will be hosted tonight to celebrate your arrival," Ned informed him stiffly as they came to be outside the Guest House. "If you need anything, send any of my servants to find me."

"I have more to discuss with you later, Ned," Robert told him sulkily before heading into the Guest House.

Ned stalked off, his face becoming flat as he headed for the Godswood to seek answers he desperately needed. When he was young, everything had been black and white. Now, he was not so certain anymore. He intended on declining the position as Hand of the King seeing that his lands were under siege by Ironborne. Underneath the thick canopy of trees, Ned breathed in the warm air, heated by the hot spring pools that were littered around the encapsulated woad. Light rarely had the chance to permeate the thick branches, even when it was sunny out.

The heart tree was waiting for him, the ivory bark stained with the red sap that the eyes wept. Sitting at the foot of the roots, overlooking the black pool, Ned tried to gather his thoughts. He unsheathed Ice, staring at the rippling Valyrian steel as it reflected off the water beneath him. After retrieving a cloth, he began polishing the steel and contemplating his options. Robert had come north for nothing. Ned would stay and protect the Arryn girl from what her father had feared of the south, even if that fear had been his nephew, Steffon.

_Robb_

Robb had never seen such ornate finery or as much gold as he saw on the carriage that pulled in through East Gate along with the southrons who rode with the king. He thought it was a rather shallow and illused display of wealth. Among the riders he saw many banners, but his eyes fastened on the perfectly white cloaks of the King's Guard. Robb was no stranger to the stories of the gallant southron knights and their magnificent ensembles of armor. Only the best would lay their swords before their king and be grace with the ivory cloak of the King's Guard. He was most impressed by the eldest rider, Ser Barriston Selmy, who had the knights fringe out along the courtyard like pale shadows to the king. Sansa was also engaged by the knights and he saw the one she was staring at with adoring eyes.

Jaime Lannister was everything that a girl could dream of. He had hair spun of gold and a smile that melted ladies into puddles. In his white armor, he was a magnificent sight to behold, pausing to speak with Princess Argella before she started toward the Starks. Robb had become so enchanted by inspecting the armor, swords, and banners that he had barely paid attention to his cousins as they came and went. Of course he smiled, gave hugs or a handshake, but his eyes always went back to the King's Guard. He was only brought back to reality when his mother stepped out of line to embrace a young lady in a pale blue gown.

Robb hadn't registered that she was even there, an Arryn banner flying on the horse of the knight who accompanied her. When she broke away from his mother Robb found himself staring at a woman who rivaled his mother's radiance and it was not just because of her age. Long hair of pale gold tumbled down to her waist, her eyes clear and bright like the summer sky, her rosy lips pronounced against her soft, lovely face. This was not the girl he remembered, but a fully grown woman with gentle curves and thick lashes that framed her stunning irises.

He almost didn't have words when his mother brought her over. In her resplendency, sorrow consumed her features, a reminder that she was still grieving for the father she had lost. Robb took Jeyne Arryn's hand and kissed it, gazing up into her pale eyes. In the brief moment that he was caught in her eyes, he felt his mind wander as he imagined more than just brushing his lips to her fingers. Appalled by his dirty thought, Robb released her hand and stood up straight. How much of the girl remained in the Arryn since she had last visited?

"It's been a long time," Robb said, probably the umteenth time Jeyne had heard that. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Jeyne."

"Thank you, I'm happy to be back in Winterfell. I missed these granite walls. There's something reassuring about this place," Jeyne told him.

Between the moat and the two walls that Winterfell was encompassed by, there was no safer place in the north. But as she stared at him, Robb felt as if she weren't speaking of the actual walls of Winterfell. Before he had the chance to say anything else, his mother whisked her away so that she could say hello to the boys and speak with the girls. His original task of keeping Lady Jeyne company wasn't as bad as he worried it might be. In fact, he was so eager to speak with her alone that he wished time would speed up. Instead, he found himself standing around with his cousin Steffon.

"Cousin Robb, you've certainly filled out," Steffon observed and Robb wasn't entirely certain what he meant by that. The Baratheon's grey eyes raked over him, his arms crossed as he watched Lady Jeyne speaking with the Stark women. "Perhaps later we can spar in the tiltyard. I know tonight we're a bit preoccupied and I've got to wash the weeks of travel off as well-" he glanced at his hands disdainfully.

_Weren't you riding in the carriage? How sweaty and dirty can one be? _Robb thought silently, but only smile at his cousin. "Yes, I'd like to see what the southron knights are teaching the crown prince."

"I'll have you know that Ser Jaime Lannister has been mentoring me," Steffon sniffed.

"Impressive. If you're anywhere as skilled as the Kingslayer, I shouldn't be a match for you," Robb retorted, intending for it to be a jest, but Steffon seemed to be serious.

"Right," Steffon drawled, launching the conversation into an awkward limbo.

"Would you like me to show you where the Guest House is? That way you can prepare for the feast this evening?" Robb suggested.

"Yes, that'll do," Steffon agreed and Robb parted from those he wished to be in tandem with and escorted his cousin into the larger courtyard where the Guest House faced the walls of the Great Keep. The prince was ahead of all of his siblings and drew up haughtily before struggling to thank Robb for bringing him to the building.

Robb headed back for the yard by the East Gate, only to find that the crowd has dispersed and the party attending the king was beginning to unpack and escort their horses across Winterfell to the stables. Cursing himself silently, he was left to presume that the women had gone for a walk of the grounds. That was _supposed _to be his job, but he'd gone and mucked it up by leaving with Steffon. Greywind nipped at his fingers playfully and Robb sighed, running his fingers back through his curls.

"What should I do then?" he asked his pup of a dire wolf.

Greywind's head turned to watch as Theon Greyjoy took long steps to meet him. "So?" Theon posed, waiting for Robb to spill the beans about what he thought of the king and company.

"Not here," Robb insisted, towing Theon away, around First Keep and into the shadows of the ruins of Broken Tower. "Were you not watching?"

"I was, but it was damn near impossible to see anything when the carriage pulled up," Theon informed him, rolling his eyes.

"The king was… just like father always described. Huge with eyes like lightning and he wore his warhammer as well," but it wasn't the king that interested him. "Lady Jeyne," he started wistfully, his mind slipping back to his brief recollection of her face. "I don't believe I've ever met a woman as fair as her."

"Blast it, I didn't get to see her," Theon cursed. "What was it about her? Big tits? All men say that about women Robb, but when it comes down to it, highborne or whore, women only have a few uses."

Robb frowned deeply at the Greyjoy's words. The harmony between his mother and father was something he hoped he would have one day. His fate was to become the Lord of Winterfell and he only prayed that he could be just as successful. While he certainly had cravings, Robb never undressed a woman with his eyes. At least, not before today. His cheeks burned at the idea and he cast his eyes away from Theon, whose lechery knew no bounds. "She's just… Just…" he didn't want to admit that her slender waist, her comely face, and ample hips had drawn him in.

"I'll get a good look at her tonight," Theon waved away Robb's stammering with nonchalance. "See for myself if the falcon is as beautiful as you claim."

Relief flooded Robb as he was no longer pestered by the questions of Lady Jeyne. "My eldest cousin was the only one I thought was rather strange."

"What about him?"

"An air of… insolence. I don't know, he just seemed disconnected from everyone around him."

"He's a prince Robb. Anything he's wanted just pops up in his hands like magic," Theon reminded him as they started back toward the East Gate.

"I don't know, but he does want to spar with me later."

"I expect that you'll obliterate him as you always do to me," Theon shrugged.

"He made a point to tell me Ser Jaime Lannister has been mentoring him."

"Just because he has the best swordsman in the realm training him doesn't make him just as good," Theon pointed out. "Now, on the other hand, if you need any advice in the realm of women, I'd be more than willing to share my experiences with you."

Robb chuckled in spite of himself. "I think I'll do fine on my own, thanks."

"The door is always open," Theon offered, leaving Robb at the Great Keep so that he could go up to his chambers and decide what he was going to do with himself for the rest of the day. Part of him wanted to go seek out the women, but he decided it best if he checked on his younger brothers.

Robb surveyed the parapets, wondering if Bran had managed to slip away and climb the walls. Their mother would always become faint at the idea of Bran climbing the enormous walls, fearful that Bran would fall to his death. Bran insisted each time that he knew every stone in Winterfell in the dark. Robb believed him, but still didn't like the sight of his mother in distress. However, as he scanned the ramparts he didn't see Bran. Instead of finding his brother, he bumped into Arya.

"I thought you were with mother," Robb recalled seeing her disappear with the others.

"I _was_," Arya informed him shortly. "But they're just walking around the grounds talking about lady-stuff." Arya's face screwed up and she made 'lady-stuff' seem like it was worse than stepping in shit.

"You might learn something if you stuck around."

"Learn?" Arya snorted. "What about you? You could be helping the king's men unpack."

"We do have an host of servants that work here," Robb didn't like being undermined, but Arya was correct. "Are you not interested by cousin Argella?"

"No, she's more Sansa's type. Clucking around like a mother hen, versed in the southron court, talking ceaselessly about her needlepoint. It's already enough that I have to bathe tonight and get into an even worse dress than this one," she picked at her gown disdainfully.

"You could try to get along with Argella. She is family, after all."

"Sansa is family too and we don't get along," Arya quipped. "So what are you going to do until dinner?"

Until dinner left quite a large chunk time, which he had not allocated to anything. "I don't know."

"Can we play knights and dragons?" Arya asked him hopefully.

"We don't have enough people," Robb told her.

"You can be the dragon and I can be the knight," Arya insisted, bouncing on her heels.

"Are you certain you can play in that dress?" If Catelyn heard that Robb had entertained Arya's idle fantasies, she would chastise his ear off. "I'll go get the practice swords, but you can't tell mother."

"I swear," Arya promised before Robb left her to fetch wooden swords at the armory.

* * *

The looking glass reflected Robb in his dark, fine polished leather. Sewn upon the breast was the House Stark sigil; a grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field. He'd trimmed his hair and managed his beard, trying to look as clean as possible. The wolf fur cloak he wore fluffed up around his neck. He adjusted his swordbelt, wondering what he might be forgetting before realizing that the time was drawing awfully close to the feast. He still had to go to the Guest House and escort Lady Jeyne. Muttering to himself, Robb hurried for the door, giving his chambers a once over as if he might have left something behind before galloping down the stairs, Greywind hot on his heels.

Flanking the acres of Godswood was a building often utilized by the lords of the north who came to visit his father. The servants made certain it was taken care of, but unlike Great Keep, it wasn't as warm. The front of the house, assorted with dozens of chambers, was the cool end. Whereas the back wall that faced the forest was situated directly over a large pool of spring water. This caused the first couple of floors in the rear of the Guest House to be well heated. His mother had chosen one of the rooms that had a scenic view into the trees on the second floor. He found that when he approached the door that there was someone already waiting outside of it.

"Lady Jeyne. Lady Jeyne, I've arrived to escort you to the feast," Steffon Baratheon was pounding on her door, bedecked in an even more florid ensemble than the afternoon. He had taken to wearing his crown and a gilded doublet with golden baubles. The cost of his attire would have been enough to feed a village for a year.

Robb frowned at the exorbitant display of wealth and cleared his throat, uncertain of why the prince was there. His mother had stated that he was to see the Arryn around the grounds. "Cousin," he said plainly, drawing Steffon out of his fervor of impolite banging on the oak door.

Steffon straightened, the aberrant expression fading as it swapped to peevish. Grey eyes raked over Robb's attire, which must have seemed dark and plain when next to the prince's. "Yes, dinner is soon, is it not?"

"Yes, I have come to escort Lady Jeyne to the Great Hall," Robb informed him stiffly.

A thicket of silence and tensity laid between them before Steffon began laughing. "Ah yes, this is your home, so it only makes sense that you would as the eldest..." he trailed off, mouth smiling but his eyes were heavy, almost as if he were glaring at Robb. "I only thought that Lady Jeyne might want to be escorted by the crown prince, but I did not intend to step on your toes, cousin."

"It's fine," Robb muttered disconcertedly, watching as the Baratheon swept away with what dignity remained. Waiting until he had turned the hall and went down the stairs, Robb approached the door and before he could even knock it cracked open and Lady Jeyne was glancing out with a dithery look.

"Is he gone?" she queried in a hushed tone, as if she were afraid everyone in the Guest House would hear her.

"He is gone," Robb affirmed, hearing a soft sigh woosh out between her lips. "Is something bothering you, my lady?"

Jeyne's features creased and she gave a harsh laugh. "Only the prince, buzzing around me like a gnat. If Ser Andar were around he wouldn't have dared..." she grumbled to herself, blinking away her vexation. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-" she started and Robb immediately waved her off.

"Don't worry about it.. He seemed a bit..."

"Overbearing, condescending, irritating, boarish?" Jeyne filled in blankly.

"Of the sort," Robb didn't want to speak ill of his cousin, seeing that one day he would be the king of Westeros. But the display he had just witnessed was certainly unwarranted.

"And people wonder why I don't wish to return to King's Landing," she snorted. "Just a moment," she turned away from the door and retrieved her cloak, finally opening it to display her and her chambers. Lady Jeyne was wrapped in a vivid sky blue gown that cinched her waist in pearly white ribbon. Her long hair had been braided away from her face on the side and the rest tumbled loose down her back and to her waist. She was well prepared for the weather, though that evening would not be too chilly, and had dressed appropriately.

When she turned, Robb noticed the way the gown hugged her slender chest, her pale throat and collar revealed, only a slight peep of the top of her breasts visible. A chain of white gold dangled and a pendant with a mother of pearl moon was inlaid with a blue opal falcon. Other than the necklace, she wore no other jewelry.

"Sorry," she apologized, rejoining him and locking her chambers, dropping the key into the inner pocket of her cloak. The reinforced bodice of the gown had fine embroidery that had been noticeable at a distance.

"No need to apologize my lady. It gets a bit cold here at night, so having a cloak will do you well," Robb informed her as she took his arm and he brought her toward the staircase.

"The Vale is also cold," she reminded him lightly. "The mountains have unpredictable weather and even in summers, up in the Eyrie a foot of snow an be deposited without warning. Being so high up has its disadvantages."

"They say the Eyrie is impregnable," Robb recalled, wondering what the castle in the sky was like.

"Right now it is, unless there was to be a mutiny by the houses of the Vale. It's impossible to siege it. Not unless you have dragons. There's simply not enough room on the winding road up to the Eyrie for an army, let alone the trail is too dangerous for horses to traverse. The best time to attack would be during the winter when everyone travels down to The Gate of the Moon. The Eyrie is so cold during that season it's impossible to live there."

"Sounds as if you have contemplated this before, my lady."

"Of course, when I sat as Warden of the East in my father's stead I spent a great deal of time in the Eyrie... though Winterfell is actually quite a deal larger than the Eyrie."

"Really?" his father had described the Eyrie on numerous occasions. Seven slim white towers bunched together on top of Giant's Lance in the Mountains of the Moon. Several thousand feet above sea level, it was truly a sight to behold, but also incredibly difficult to access. If anyone wished to seige it, they would have to pass through two other garrisons and three waycastles before they could get to the Eyrie. In his imagination, he'd believed that the Eyrie was just as large as a mountain, but when he considered it, the peak was significantly smaller than the rest of the mountain.

"Yes," she smiled at him, the brilliance of it dazzling Robb for a moment.

"Then the weather here shouldn't bother you too much. Most southrons don't adjust too well."

"Southrons?" she arched a brow at him in amusement. "I don't know if I would consider the Vale of Arryn southern."

"It's south of the Twins, my lady," Robb pointed out not unkindly.

"Aye, that is true, but as I've said, the Mountains of the Moon separate us from the true south. Almost as if we're in our own little world, the last sliver of principle and honor before you pass The Bay of Crabs," she paused before continuing. "Lord Eddard thought of my father as a second father. Do you think he would be so fond of the Arryns if we were not forged of the same steel as northerners?"

"I did not question your honor, my lady," Robb chuckled.

"I know, but you called us southrons, which has a certain... connotation."

"Then what would you have me call you and your people?"

"We are Valemen, not southrons."

Before Robb could continue, he realized that their conversation had bridged the distance between the Guest House and the Great Hall. He was disappointed that it had to end there, knowing that Sansa and his mother would probably wish to be included in the discussion with Lady Jeyne. He halted before they entered through the Lord Door around the rear of the hall.

"Feel free to ask me any questions you have, Lady Jeyne. I'd be more than willing to give you a proper tour of Winterfell tomorrow morning, seeing that you're staying here-"

"Indefinitely?" mischief tugged at the corners of her lips as she turned a brow at him. "Thank you Lord Robb, I appreciate the offer. I didn't get the chance to see them, but I heard there are glass gardens here at Winterfell."

"The glass gardens?" he repeated. The greenhouses were utilized by the cooks to grow plants that typically wouldn't be found this far north. Even in the winter they remained warm enough to grow food. Maester Lewin also used them to grow herbs he needed to create potions and draughts. "Tomorrow morning I could bring you there, if you'd like."

"I'd like that very much," Jeyne agreed before Robb took the door and held it open for her. "Alright, here we go," she mumbled to herself, shaking her arms out before adjusting her hair slightly.

Arm in arm with probably the most comely lady in Winterfell, Robb held his head high as they entered the Great Hall. Rows of tables had been arranged in the enormous foyer, centerpieces of pine and holly situated down the center along with trenchers and flagons of ale. His father and mother were already at the head table waiting, Robb and Jeyne were among the second pair to arrive. Which Robb thought was strange, seeing that Prince Steffon had been perfectly ready to bring Jeyne to the dinner.

"Where are the others?" Robb asked as he helped Lady Jeyne into her seat, which was situated on the right of where he would be seated.

"Here soon hopefully," though his mother smiled, he could tell that she was grinding her teeth in irritation. "Lady Jeyne you look wonderful. Did you do that stitch work yourself?"

"Thank you Lady Catelyn, yes I did. Nothing too ornate, just enough to compliment the gown," she said graciously.

"You'll have to see Sansa's dress when she arrives," Catelyn gushed, Robb finally settling between them.

Shortly after being mentioned, Sansa arrived with her best friend, Jeyne Poole, the daughter of the Stark steward. The dark haired teen stared up mistily at the head table, catching Sansa by the arm to whisper a secret into her ear. Sansa chuckled before parting ways and joining her family at the table. Her eyes turned cheerfully to Lady Jeyne, who she had the honor of sitting on the other side of.

"Did you sew this all yourself, Lady Sansa?" Jeyne asked her, marveling at the grey-blue gown his sister wore.

Sansa had done her hair up, trying to imitate the southern fashion that Argella had worn her hair in earlier. The rendition pulled all her hair away from her face and twirled it fastidiously. Robb thought it didn't look as nice as when Sansa wore is simple or had it down, but hadn't the heart to tell her as she glowed with excitement. "I did Lady Jeyne, but it really doesn't compare to your gown. It's so lovely and blue… Just like the sky. I absolutely love it."

"I have a few more in this color, perhaps I could tailor one to fit you," Jeyne suggested.

Sansa's pale cheeks flushed at the idea. "Oh, I couldn't ask you to do such a thing."

"I'll be spending a lot of time here in Winterfell and I won't wear blue all the time. It wouldn't be any trouble at all. We can talk over sewing, talk about your interests and perhaps your studies," Jeyne inclined.

Robb knew that Sansa dreamed of the south and to have a southron lady entreating her was just a step down from a flowery knight pledging to protect her. Even if Sansa couldn't go to King's Landing, at least she'd have someone who had been there beside her. An older sister that she'd never had, Sansa gazed up intently at Jeyne with adoration. Such was the mind of his sister so easily ensnared by a woman who was beautiful and spoke kindly. Robb had seen just moments before that Jeyne could be down to earth and wry, unafraid to speak against those she disliked. Could he fault his sister for being drawn in? He also felt as if he were being pulled toward the sweet Lady Jeyne, her attitude and appearance refreshing and foreign among the northerners.

Arya tailed by Bran and Rickon came soon after, barely reaching the dias which the head table was seated upon before the royal family entered. Everyone that had collected, knights and soldiers of the north, the King's Guard, the paltry nobles of the south, and all those in between stood to recognize the king as he escorted his daughter and was followed by his sons. Robb noticed that Steffon held his nose up, a distaste forming in the Stark's mouth as he watched how his cousin carried himself.

King Robert approached his father, Ned, and after slapping him heartily on the back, took a seat. A cacophony of chatter broke out as the rest of the hall collapsed into their chairs. Serving girls began cycling through, bringing new flagons of wine and ale. Thankful for the buffer between him and his cousin, Robb found that Sansa was hogging Lady Jeyne's attention. The head table was served a much finer vint than anyone beneath and Robb wished that Theon or Jon could have tasted the Arbor Gold that King Robert had brought. The pale wine was sweet and delicate, an aromatic blend of white grapes and honeysuckles, gracing his nostrils.

His father had even allowed the children, Sansa, Arya, and Bran, to all have their own half filled cup. Robb, being a man grown for some time now, was allowed as much as he pleased. That did not mean he would get in his cups, not wishing to embarrass himself in front of the lovely lady beside him.

"They say the finest wine is made in the Arbor," Sansa told Jeyne raptly, holding the chalice up to admire the way the candle light caught the clear wine.

"I find it's a bit sweet for my liking, but certainly very expensive and coveted," Jeyne admitted, catching the eye of a servant girl as she passed by. "Perhaps a red vint?"

"Er, yes my lady, but it's-" the server stammered.

"Do not worry if it is not as rich as this, my dear," Jeyne informed her kindly.

"You like red wine more?" Sansa asked taken aback.

"Good for your heart, one glass in the evening with dinner. Father used to drink one at every supper and look how long he lived," a sad smile touched her lips, replaced when the server came back with a basic flagon. Robb was about to dispute the mulled wine, which was being served to the entire room. Spiced with cloves and star anise, he didn't think she was going to like it. "Wonderful! Really warms you up, doesn't it?"

"I suppose, it's got more spices than I'd like," Sansa remarked.

"I'll have one too," Robb told the servant, having empties his own goblet. When the wine touched his tongue, the dry warmth of the wine settled in his throat, the spices reminding him of home. Somehow, he preferred this wine to the Arbor Gold which tasted of flowers.

"Then there is more Arbor Gold for you to enjoy since I'll be drinking this," Jeyne jested, cheeks flushed from the wine. Leaving him again, the conversation between his sister and Jeyne took off without him.

However, to stir him from his brooding his mother turn to him. "So?" Catelyn poised, placing a hand on Robb's arm, enjoying the atmosphere of Winterfell. This was the first time in a long time that it had been this busy. The hall was overflowing with men and her hard work to arrange it all had finally come to fruition. He knew that she yearned to have more parties, to make the large keep that was Winterfell a hub for activity. His father didn't see the point in spending coin just to have people drink his wine and chat. Building relationships, as Catelyn had called it, and Robb was witnessing it right beside him with his sister and Jeyne.

"So what?" Robb could feel his own cheeks were hot as he'd nearly down the mulled wine.

Catelyn, attempting to be slick, flicked her eyes quickly from him to Lady Jeyne, as if her soft words would be overheard by the Arryn over the raucous din of the hall. "What do you think of her?" Catelyn dropped her voice and leaned toward him to whisper in his ear, the sweet scent of Arbor Gold on her breath.

"It's a bit too early to test, isn't it mother?" Robb protested.

Catelyn pulled back and looked him over dubiously. "No, first impressions are always important. Just ask your father."

But he wasn't going to ask his father. Instead, he rose a brow at his lady mother and the lack of composure she had for once. "Why are you so curous about it?"

She didn't award him with an answer. "Perhaps it is too early," she sighed wistfully, tapping a finger to her fair nose before grinning at him. "Or not. How many cups have you had, Robb?"

"Just a couple," Robb grumbled.

"Maybe you should get some food in your belly before another," Catelyn suggested mischievously.

_And you wonder where Arya gets it from. Is it so absurd to consider it might be you, mother? _Robb thought, scowling slightly as she scolded him like he were still just a boy. "I'm fine," he insisted stiffly.

"You wouldn't want to do anything to embarrass yourself, would you?" Catelyn said.

Robb suppressed a groan and turned his attention to the food that adorned the table. There was much to choose from in front of them and he decided on the venison. However, among the trenchers was fresh lamb, a whole pig with an apple in its mouth, roasted duck in herb butter, and partridge. Not to mention countless sides like mashed potatoes and scallions, carrots in a honey demiglaze, fresh soft bread rolls, brussel sprouts tossed in goat cheese, and pecan candied yams. Doling the food onto his plate he resolved the situation his mother had been pestering him about and turned his attention back to the girls.

"You've been to three tourneys?" Sansa gasped, the topic having shifted from the subject of wine.

"It's been a while since I've been to one, but yes, King Robert is quite fond of tourneys," Jeyne smiled.

"Wow, I've never been to one, but I hope that I'll get to see one soon," Sansa told her dreamily.

"Just a bunch of men fighting," Jeyne shrugged, bringing a smirk to Robb's face.

"But _knights_ all in their magnificent armor, wearing the tokens of the ladies they favor," Sansa pressed for more details.

"There's also prize money," Jeyne informed her. "And they're all very similar. Even if it's the green knight from the western part of the kingdom or the golden Lannister knight, it's always joust here, sword fight there, declare a winner… The common folk definitely enjoy it, getting to have a taste of the finer life, but it's just an exuberant waste of coin in my opinion. Do you know how many golden dragons it takes to afford one?"

Sansa didn't seem very interested in discussing how her idle fantasies cost a lot of coin and weren't very enchanting. However, Robb was amused that a lady was disputing tourneys openly, especially with a king so near who enjoyed them dearly. "How many?" Robb inquired, propping his elbow on the table so he could gaze between her and Sansa.

"Well is begins with how many events there are, the more events, the more expensive. Most often it's just jousting and _maybe _melees. But I've been to a grand tourney that also had archery and mock battles. Supposing we're going off the idea that we'll have all four events, that means you have to prepare enough room in King's Landing for each to be held. Now there is an area large enough, but now you have to cordone areas off so that can be transitioned between days. That costs money to have the men there to do that. Jousting needs lanes and that required wood, flags, an oftenly plowed dirt field to make certain it is level so each pair of jousters has a fair shot, again, coin. You also need to consider that the stands have to be repaired, move, decorated with fresh flowers, and maintained. Servants also go around selling food and drink to the commoners, but the nobles find that their refreshments are courtesy of the king. And so if Lord Tyrell decides he'd like to drink a whole cask of Arbor Gold on his own, that also has to be paid for.

"The knights don't pay anything to enter the tourney, so there is no equivocal compensation. Sure, there is money to be made off of the commoners who buy food, but are we really charging them more than pennies? You can't charge more than the populace can afford, lest you wish to keep them happy. Thus the profit margin will never reach what has been expelled to erect this momentous event. And Grand Tourneys usually have a very large prize. So, let us expect that the prize is 1,000 golden dragons. The tourney itself, between the cost of decoration, setup, breakdown, and maintenance will cost at least 2,000 golden dragons and that's pinching pennies. That's 3,000 golden dragons with a possible return of… 100 golden dragons on what the commoners purchase in booze? After all, to make a golden dragon, you would need 11,790 pennies. If they charged a groat, that's still 2,940 until we have a golden dragon. Of course, with the amount of people that attend, we'll get enough groats over the span of those days as people drink themselves and bet on knights. But with a Grand Tourney costing upwards of 3,000 golden dragons, it's a price that shouldn't be spent lightly. Especially seeing that is causes many other trickle down problems such as traffic in the city and increase of petty thievery and mayhem. Which will require the city guard to be paid more as they're forcing overtime to compensate for the increase of crime."

Sansa blinked at Jeyne slowly and her deductions. "Then how can it be afforded? Surely the king is that wealthy?"

Jeyne smiled, "There's always the Iron Bank."

_The Crown is in debt, _Robb realized as he stared openly at Jeyne. His mother was an intelligent woman and managed books, but Jeyne was making calculations on a scale that Winterfell never had to deal with. Between her currency conversion and insight toward unexpected costs and diversions, he was impressed. "Did you help plan the tourneys or is that all just speculation?" he inquired curiously.

"Speculation, but I know how much things like that cost. I thought about having a tourney in the Vale to show the beauty of my home to other knights around Westeros. Of course, even with a simpler tourney the cost was too steep for my likings. No, thousands of golden dragons would better be allocated to somewhere more practical and the Vale certainly doesn't need to be spending it foolishly. At least, not when it was under my guidance," Jeyne responded evenly.

"Did you also balance the books while at the Eyrie?"

"It was among of my many duties," Jeyne replied. "You have to be good with numbers."

Robb had glanced the records of Winterfell beside his father before and he knew that there were several variables that worked in tandem to make the castle what it was. Fair taxes and bountiful harvests made for their income, which was subsequently doled out to pay workers or afford luxuries that were not common to the north. Ned tried to keep such spending to a minimum as he taxed his own people very lightly, just enough that Winterfell could run smoothly and they would not need for anything.

"I presume you are then?" Robb smirked.

"No, just the only Arryn in the Vale for a period of time and it fell to me," she retorted sarcastically.

"If you're no good at numbers and can draw them up in your head like that, I'd hate to fathom what you'd consider me," Robb chuckled, taking a sip of his wine.

"I assume you have other talents to make up for your lack of skill in math," Jeyne said lightly, causing Robb to snort into his cup midsip.

Wiping his mouth of with a nearby cloth, he parried, "If math is not your best skill, my lady, what is?"

"Ser Ardan might say my skills in diplomacy, but I like to fancy I'd got a good bow arm."

"_Bow _arm?" Arya had materialized behind them, trying to reach her grubby fingers forward to snag the flagon that had been placed on the table.

"There are many dangers in the Vale, including the hill tribes," Jeyne told her offhandedly. "It is not unheard of that a lady wields a bow. Never a sword, but a bow…"

"I know how to use a bow," Arya told her stiffly, a disdain consuming the girl for the lady that Sansa was fond of.

"Perhaps we could practice together some time?" Jeyne entreated, grabbing the flagon and pouring Arya a small portion as not enough to upset Catelyn or Ned.

Arya gave her a doubtful look. "Maybe," she sniffed before returning to sit between her brothers.

Sansa gave her counterpart a nasty glare as she returned to her seat. "Don't think much of her, she doesn't have any manners Lady Jeyne," she entreated swiftly.

Jeyne's laughter rang out between them like wind chimes. "It's fine, Lady Sansa. I was a lot like Lady Arya when I was young, sometimes it is difficult to find your place."

Dinner was coming to a close faster than Robb had anticipated. For a large feast, the food moved in front of them as if vanishing to another realm. Arya and Sansa made quick work of the honey cakes and Jeyne strangely turned away most of the desserts. When it came to a conclusion, Robb found that much like the beginning of the evening, he was now escorting Lady Jeyne back to her chambers in the Guest House. With the fall of night came a slight chill that swept through the towers and down into the courtyard.

Jeyne pulled her cloak closer and they stepped swiftly to get into the shelter of the building. Seeing her back up to her room on the second floor. Robb paused outside the door, feeling it would be inappropriate to enter her chambers without an invitation and at this hour. Even with her hair slightly askew, she was still just as lovely, a true femme fatale. She turned to smile at him, pearly white teeth flashing as she drew up exhaustively against the frame of the door.

"Did you enjoy tonight?" he asked her warmly.

"I did, I'm looking forward to my time here at Winterfell," she admitted.

"Me too," perhaps the wine had muddled his wits, but he spoke before considering what he had said. When faced by a pretty and intelligent woman, Robb was supposedly oafish.

Catching his blunder she only grinned at him, is cheeks burning to his chagrin. "Goodnight Lord Robb."

Before she could slip away he caught her. "If my cousin bothers you again, let me or Theon know," Robb entreated, his fingers wrapped lightly on her shoulder.

The sweet expression she had before faded, replaced with anxiety. "I can… handle myself, my lord."

"If he does it again, tell me," Robb insisted gently.

After a moment of silence she gave him a weak smile. "Thank you. He won't be here too much longer."

"Goodnight Lady Jeyne," Robb bid before watching as she slipped into the her chambers and bolted the door. With a small sigh he brushed his fingers back through his hair. Had he been spending so much time around Theon that the Greyjoy's lecherous tendencies had rubbed off on him? Robb had been captivated by Jeyne. No woman had done that to him before and the feeling was both elating and disconcerting.

_Gods preserve me, _Robb thoughts before departing.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sansa_

Gilded knights, colorful banners, handsome smiles, and ornate attire. The taste of the southron court left Sansa in a tizzy as she stared out imploringly from the window in her bedroom that morning. Unlike yesterday, the sun twinkled, basking the courtyard in its warmth, refracting off of the armor the King's Guard wore. Part of her wished they would stay forever or they would take her with them south so that she could revel in their gloriousness for eternity. Septa Mordane had told her to leave the knights be, to not interrupt them while they were working, but Sansa had so many questions. From her perch in the window, she ran her brush through her hair, watching as the beginning of the day was unfolding.

Hunters always got up first to retrieve their hounds. She never saw them exit as they used the Hunter's Gate behind the kennels to go in and out of Winterfell. Servants were almost always hurrying around, even at the earliest hours of the day. Unable to sleep, Sansa had resorted to watching them contentedly with Lady curled up by her bare feet. Just before breakfast, she noticed that Robb was leaving the Great Keep and heading for the Guest House. Only one reason would have had her brother up so early and so neatly dressed and it wasn't to begin his sparing under the guidance of Ser Rodrik.

It had been blatantly obvious that Robb liked Lady Jeyne and why not? The Arryn was very beautiful and intelligent, perhaps more so than Sansa thought she needed to be. During their stitchwork yesterday, Sansa marveled at how dexterously she moved and the wry sense of humor she had that made both she and Jeyne Poole blush. When Septa Mordane was out of the room, Lady Jeyne would make jokes about how serious she was, causing a torrent of giggles. Septa Mordane had returned in mild confusion as to what could have happened while she was gone. Little did she know she had been the subject of the joke.

_One day, I want to be like Lady Jeyne,_ Sansa thought, running her fingers through Lady's fur. Elegant, a sense of humor, scholarly, and dignified. She was the epitome of a lady. Well, she did have one downfall, but that came at having to manage the Vale on her own. Ladies shouldn't wield weapons and Sansa was still fast in believing that her skill in a bow was unneeded and the only thing that marred Jeyne's perfection. _No one is perfect._

Eventually, Sansa got to her feet and dressed for the day. It was the weekend and she would have no lessons with Septa Mordane. She spent a great deal of time in the mirror, trying to decide which hairstyle suited her best, before heading down into the yard, where she bumped into her father. Overnight, she had sat awake in her bed trying to sort the words right in her head. She wanted to join Princess Argella and she need only put up a good proposition for her father to agree that she could go south. After all, they were family and she would be safe among family.

"Good morning father," Sansa greeted cheerfully, arranging her thoughts as she tried to keep up with his long strides.

"Good morning Sansa," Ned said, a smile passing his solemn features.

"Father there is something I wanted to request of you," Sansa started timidly, fingers tangling in her skirts as she tried to summon the courage.

Ned cocked a brow at her and paused to face his daughter. "And that is?"

"I was thinking that perhaps I should go south with cousin Argella. I'm a woman grown and I should be well versed in the way the courts south work in hopes of bringing some of that insight back home," Sansa explained, taken aback by how she had controlled her voice had been. She remained poised, holding her head high to gaze intently at her father. There was nothing more she wanted than the chance to go south other than to have a magical romance with a knight and fall in love.

"Do you recall the story of the last time a Stark went south?" Ned pressed gently.

"She became queen," Sansa retorted proudly, thinking of her late aunt.

"No, not that. First she was kidnapped and then her brother and father executed on the steps of the Iron Throne. The south has never bode well for Starks and it's unlikely you would be allowed to take Lady with you," his eyes slid to the adolescent dire wolf that padded contentedly beside Sansa.

"But that was when the Targaryens ruled father. It's different now, please can I go? I want to go so badly," Sansa's resolve was crumbling and she was resorting to whining and groveling.

"I will speak of it with your mother, but your place is here Sansa," Ned said definitively, ending the topic right there. It wasn't a 'No' and that was all she had to cling to in the ocean of doubt.

Collecting herself, Sansa nodded, trying to mimic the mannerisms of Lady Jeyne she had observed the previous evening. "Thank you father," she said calmly before letting him go off to where he was needed.

Finding Jeyne Poole out near the wash basin in the yard, she drew in a deep breath. If Sansa went south, she would take Jeyne with her if she could. Among a sea of strangers, she hoped she would have her best friend there to keep her company until she made more. Both girls dozed dreamily about the food, the etiquette, the knights, and the scenic views. By the armory, men were already sparring, enjoying the lick of mild summer weather that rarely graced Winterfell.

Prince Steffon and Ser Jaime were practicing, a battle between the white knight and dark prince. Both were a sight to behold, Ser Jaime in his gilded snowy armor, cloak fluttering behind him like a pale wing as he parried Steffon. Steffon struck quickly, but Jaime batted him away lazily like a cat playing with a mouse. Part way through the fight, Ser Jaime took a step back, the sun catching his golden locks in a way that caused both girls to gasp in delight. Sansa could only imagine running her fingers through his hair, even if he was old enough to be her father.

"Watch your feet or I'll knock you right off them." Jaime warned him, gesturing to the way that his feet had grown closer. "What have I told you before?"

"Dig in your roots so your branches have the chance to blow in the wind without being broken," Steffon retorted.

Jaime circled round the prince, whistling softly as he inspected him. "Show me the stance."

Steffon placed his feet shoulder width apart and slid his left back. Pushing out his chest, the prince revealed his impressive physique as his leather jerkin strained against pectoral muscles. He was slightly shorter than her eldest brother, but he seemed taller the way he carried himself.

"Now, why couldn't you do that before?" Jaime inquired, dragging the tip of his practice sword in the dirt, following him like a tail. "Your enemy will not wait for you to have a good, firm stance."

Lion circling the stag, Jaime continued to guide Steffon in the proper direction. "He's so quick, isn't he?" Sansa breathed when they commenced again.

Jeyne had a cross stitch between her fingers, the picture of a direwolf missing the lower half of the body. Jeyne had told her before that she was making it in Lady's likeness. "Theon is quicker," Jeyne conceded honestly.

Scowling, Sansa propped her chin on her curled fingers. Between his black hair that glinted like dragonglass in the sunlight and his solemn eyes, his face was peppered slightly by a day's lack of shaving. She thought it suited him, but as she admired her cousin's handsomeness she remembered just that. _He's my cousin, _she thought bleakly, wishing that he hadn't been mothered by her aunt. _A Stark was just queen. _

Thoughts peppered her mind. What if he hadn't been part Stark? Would he have been interested in someone like her? Did Steffon have anyone he fancied now? Sansa didn't even notice that she was chewing her lip the conclusion to the early morning sparring came to a conclusion. Ser Jaime muttered something in Steffon's ear before taking his practice sword.

Rounding, Steffon took notice of the two ladies by the water basin and much to their chagrin, began approaching them. Jeyne squeaked and glanced back down at her stitch work as the prince strode toward them.

"Cousin Sansa good morning," Steffon greeted glancing over at Jeyne Poole. "And who is your lovely friend?"

Sansa was astounded that Jeyne was keeping her head down, trying to pretend as if he weren't there, but spoke up for her. "Jeyne Poole, your grace," she informed him.

"Ah, it seems the name Jeyne only graces beautiful ladies," Steffon quipped, drawing a coy glance from Jeyne. "And do not worry about the formalities, cousin, we are family after all."

Sansa cracked a smile and Jeyne's face turned pink at the compliment. "T-thank you, your grace," Jeyne stammered, still hiding behind her needlework.

"Would you ladies like to go for a walk?" he suggested.

"Of course," Sansa nearly leapt up from her seat, but Jeyne Poole was slightly more lethargic.

"I… apologize, but my father wanted me to meet him for breakfast," the girl told them kindly, excusing herself completely from between the cousins.

Despite Jeyne leaving, Sansa was not displeased. In fact, this had been the first time she was alone with her cousin, the crown prince. Standing in his presence was elating, her chest feeling light as she gazed up at him. His dark hair and brow collected a bit of sweat and his chest moved up and down quickly from the work out.

"Could we go to the Godswood? I wish to honor my mother there," Steffon requested.

"Yes," Sansa chirped, leading Steffon through Winterfell, between buildings, and in through the gates open like an enormous dragon's maw. Even in one of the most inhospitable places in all of Westeros, this was their little slice of heaven that remained mostly green, even in the winter. Sansa could not recall the last winter, seeing that she had been a babe, but Robb told her that the grass was still verdant and the soldier pines stood firm, holding the snow up and away from the ground. All but the ivory and blood heart tree by the black pool.

Lady padded forward and ahead of them, more at home in a forest than the stones of Winterfell. The pup darted between the trees, letting her usual composure slip between her paws as she vanished in the darkness. Little light permeated the thick canopies of the pines, guarding the Godswood just as solemn as the north men. Sansa always felt uneasy in the Godswood, as if something would dart out from behind a tree and attack her. The face of the heart tree had always terrified her as well, the way the crimson sap leaked from the eyes and mouth like blood, creased in a silent scream.

Sansa shuddered at the thought as they prowled deeper into the forest. Watching her footing, she carefully stepped over some roots, falling behind Steffon as he got ahead of her. Finally, they stood in front of the heart tree, Steffon reaching forward to touch the face, smearing the bloody sap on his fingertips.

"These were the Gods mother prayed to?" he rubbed his fingers together, balling the sap. "I nearly forgot what the heart tree looked like."

"Aren't there any in King's Landing?" Sansa asked.

Steffon turned to look at her. "No, there's an area called the Godswood, but there is no heart tree. Father wanted to get one for my mother, but it proved too difficult. You know, when I was younger, the heart tree used to haunt my nightmares," he chuckled in spite of himself.

"They used to scare me too," Sansa admitted, though he didn't mention that the face still made her uneasy.

"Scare you?" Steffon cocked a brow at her. "The lovely Lady Sansa? No."

"I was a child once," Sansa quipped as he took a step toward her.

"Once," Steffon muttered and her heart fluttered as her cousin reached forward and tucked a fly away piece of hair from her face. "And you're a beautiful lady now. Do you know where the most beautiful deserve to be?"

"Uh," Sansa's voice caught in the back of her throat at his touch. "No."

"The prettiest flowers deserve to be in the south where they'll flourish," he brought his hand away and turned back to the heart tree. "You know… The Targaryens used to wed brother and sister to preserve their line. When a sibling wasn't available, they would branch out and choose cousins."

Sansa tried to piece together what he was telling her. The Targaryens had been known for marrying within their own family to preserve their Valyrian blood. Even the Baratheons had some Targaryen blood in them, as did many of the southron families. Rumor had it that they would bring engaging women from Lys when the line need to be broken up a bit, seeing many from Lys also possessed Valyrian blood. But Steffon wasn't talking about Targaryens was he?

"And which line are you trying to preserve?" Sansa finally asked him, her tongue dry.

Steffon whirled, his eyes swirling like a stormy sky. "The bond between Stark and Baratheon. The kingdom has not been so strong since dragons flew the sky. Imagine it Sansa, another Stark queen, now with ties to the Tullys."

Sansa could imagine it. She _had _imagined it, only without them being cousins. Watching the way he prowled forward, he moved, glimmering with regality as bright as the crown he had been wearing the evening before. Her heart was hammering so loud that she swore Steffon could hear it. "Do you think that our fathers would agree to it?" her voice trembled with excitement and anxiety.

Steffon stepped forward and took her hands in his, rough and calloused against her soft, gentle ones. He had her snared in his brooding, eyes and she was trapped light a doe before a hunter. Unable to fly on her feet, Sansa stood there trapped in the prince's handsome gaze. "Come to King's Landing and I shall see it done," he promised her. "The Targaryens could do it for centuries, why not us?"

Another Stark queen to solidify the bond between north and south; wolf and stag. "I… am still trying to convince my father to let me go."

"Then let this be our promise, in the sight of the Old Gods. Come Sansa," Steffon held her hand and led her in front of the heart tree. "Even if you cannot come to King's Landing just now, I will work on melting your father's heart. Once you come down, I'll find reasons to keep you there, to delay you leaving. The south deserves another fair queen and that shall be you. This I swear in front of the Old Gods." Blinking his eyes back open after his prayer, he smiled at her.

Everything was happening so quickly that Sansa didn't know how to react. She would be a fair, kind queen, that much she could promise. Her adoration for Steffon only grew as he gazed into her river blue eyes. When he leaned forward, she didn't know what to expect. Perhaps a whisper in her ear? No. Steffon touched his lips to hers, the stubble on his face scratching her soft cheeks. In the site of the heart tree, Sansa experienced her first kiss. Just as soon as it had started, did Steffon pull away from her.

"We can't stay here too long, my future queen," Steffon told her.

"N-no, someone might notice we're missing," she breathed, touching her lips when Steffon had turned away for a moment. What had just happened?

"Now, keep this a secret between us and the Gods for now, Sansa. We must wait until the time is right. Promise me you won't tell anyone?"

"I promise," Sansa muttered dreamily.

_Jeyne _

Jeyne had barely woken up when there was a stern knock on her door. Without a slew of shouting to follow, she was comfortable in assuming that it was not the accursed Prince Steffon at her door. She grabbed the Mereense silk robe she had and slid it over her chemise, tying it tightly and turning her braid over her shoulder as she blearily headed for the door, wiping her eyes. When she opened the door, she caught herself mid yawn as Robb Stark, who wasn't just visiting her in pajamas.

"Oh," Jeyne gasped, realizing how foolish she must look answering the door.

"Late morning? Or did you forget that you asked for an escort?"

"Ah, the latter," Jeyne admitted, embarrassed. "If you want to just give me a moment…"

"I don't mind waiting, my lady," Robb told her kindly, but he cracked a smile at her blunder.

Jeyne shut the door gently and swept into a dervish as she went for the simple roughspun green gown and smock. She wasn't going to ruin one of her pretty dresses when she went to the greenhouse, nor her cloak. The window betrayed the sunlight outside and she only took the blue scarf that had hung on the dressing lattice. She didn't bother to do much more than the sleeping braid she had, feeling foolish already that she had opened the door to Robb Stark with just her chemise and robe on. Perhaps she had drank too much wine and the trade was her wit in the morning.

Sliding outside she gave him an apologetic smile. "I apologize, Lord Robb. I don't know how this escaped my mind."

"I'm hurt that you could forget me so easily," Robb mused, with a thoughtful pause he gave her a sidelong glance down the stairs. "And you don't have to keep calling me lord. My father is still Lord of Winterfell."

"You shall be Lord of Winterfell one day," Jeyne pointed out.

"I pray not anytime soon," he sighed at the thought as they stepped out into the blinding sunlight. Jeyne was instantly reminded of the blinding days up in the Eyrie and how the sun seemed so much closer. Shielding her eyes, she drew in the glory of Winterfell's granite walls. She was amazed how much larger it was than the Eyrie, spanning acres of land. Around every twist and turn there seemed to be another building, with another purpose. She was still trying to learn which was which, but at least the walls were not as labyrinth-like as the Red Keep.

"What a beautiful day," she commented as her eyes finally adjusted, no longer rendering her sun blind.

"I agree, my lady."

Her lips twisted up and she threw him a humorous look. "So you're allowed to call me 'lady', but I'm only to call you Robb?"

"You are still a guest in my home," he reminded her lightly.

"Oh, well that's no fun at all," she pouted, but did not pursue the topic further.

Robb Stark interested her. It had been a great deal of time since she had visited the north and Winterfell, but she could recall from her youth that she'd always been impressed by their ethics and operations. What she recalled of the eldest Stark was nothing more than a few dinners they might have shared with their families and watching some sparring. Both of them had been much too young to do any serious talking or flirtation. Shy of their adulthood, they had been awkward and juxtaposed by their upcoming adolescence. Jeyne didn't believe she had even been a maiden who had flowered when she had last seen these comforting, strong walls. While Winterfell was not on top of a mountain, the pair of tall walls and moat did have a reassuring quality.

Now, both of them were in their adulthood and she could tell Robb was fond of her. Had she been in the south, she would have questioned his motives. Even at this point, she still did, but her suspicion was chased by how courteous he was. There was a lack of annoying persistence as Robb eased into conversations and was disconcerted when he believed he'd made a verbal blunder. Rather then turning her off, Jeyne was amused that he didn't have all the answers at his fingertips. Ladies of all ages dreamed of finding a knight to woo them and it was always in the south, by tourneys. Lest they went north to seek out the men who acted on honor. To many, the north was cold and inhospitable, the people too solemn and withdrawn.

_Perhaps it's just people who can't deal without luxuries at their fingertips. I don't find the northerners to be dry, _she thought, but maybe that was because she had the convenience of possessing a good relationship with the Starks. _Robb will decide how much he likes me as the time passes. Most men find me to be too much to handle. They don't like the feeling of inferiority. _

Jeyne was a strong woman with prowess that terrified the southron knights and lords. Her attitude was unbefitting of a lady with her status… or so they said. Jeyne's father had always pushed her to strive for the best and never accept less. As High as Honor. The words resonated in her heart and her 'honor' reflected a great deal of her pride for her accomplishments. A woman can't do this. A woman can't do that. A woman can't be a maester and study at the Citadel. Jeyne had heard it all before and by now she had learned to tune it out. A lady could be all she wished to accomplish, as long as she had the ambition to do so.

Spanning in front of them, winking in the sunlight was the long green houses that were called the Glass Gardens. Jeyne hadn't seen anything quite like it as it reached as high as some of the trees in the Godswood, made entirely of glass and steel. When Robb offered the door for her, a pleasant burst of humid warmth met her. Within, the Glass Gardens were considerably warmer than outside, but not due to the hot springs.

"The Glass Gardens trap heat through the glass and light," Robb explained as Jeyne marveled at it. "Even in the winter they're able to grow lettuce and other hardy root vegetables, despite the subfreezing temperatures. Since it's so warm now, we're able to host plants that grow in warmer climates. I'm not certain what they all are… but the cook seems to know."

Jeyne walked between the lanes, her fingertips brushing the tops of a small bush; blueberries. When she rounded a corner, she found another area had been devoted to gourds, their spiny vines nearly overflowing the oblong planter their were hosted in. She spotted various tomatoes in their cages and beans. However, the subject of her interest revolved around the back of the Glass Gardens, which was cordoned off for herbs and plants utilized by maester Lewin.

"You seem as if you know where you're going," Robb remarked.

"I know what I'm looking at," she said lightly, bending down to poke at a sprout of green tendrils that sagged against the soil. "Do you know what these are?"

Greywind came up beside her, his head high enough to reach over the planter and give a loud snuff.

"Enlighten me. I'm not a farming expert."

"Carrots," she grabbed the sprout by the base and tugged hard, revealing an orange root. Dusting off the dirt she offered it to Greywind.

"He won't eat that-"

But much to his dismay, Greywind took the carrot and began chomping on it loudly, the crunching resonating throughout the Glass Gardens. "Hounds like carrots too," she chuckled, taking the leafy part away from the direwolf and letting him have the entire root. She ran her fingers over the top of his head. The direwolves of the Starks did not unnerve her, all but one of them seemed well trained and she had no doubt that Greywind was among those better handled. Still being a pup, his fur was in the middle of transitioning from plush to downy.

"Did you spend a few years on a farm?" he inquired.

"No, I studied under maesters for some years. I was always interested by medicine and in turn, I learned a good deal about other vegetation and what it looked like. A lady cannot go to the Citadel, but that does not mean she can't learn what her maester knows," she pushed back a few strands of hair from her face and stood up. "Plus having knowledge of flora is not completely useless. It helped when I spoke to commoners about harvest and their lands."

"You wanted to be a scholar then?"

"I wanted to be a healer. My mother died of a winter sickness when I was quite young. I only wondered if we had a more experienced maester, would she have survived," she grew quiet for a moment and then a smile crept over her face. "Why Lord Robb? Is it so strange that a woman wishes to be so learned."

"I haven't met any who've had such an ambition, nor need it. But I must admit the knowledge is impressive and useful," he gave his direwolf a look. "To think I could have been feeding Greywind carrots this whole time."

Jeyne actually broke out into a fit of laughter, astounded by her inability to impede it as she covered her mouth. "Now you'll have to worry about him coming here on his own and digging up all the carrots."

"Gage wouldn't like that. He's already terrified of the wolves as it is," Robb mused to himself as Jeyne made her way for the medicinal section of the gardens.

"I don't see why, Greywind is so mild mannered," the pup was actually following her, tail raised high and wagging as she ducked under a rope.

"To you he is. I think you've earned his trust with that carrot."

"I suppose you'll have to guard that secret then. Wouldn't want your enemies to find out it only takes a carrot to quell your wolf," the herbs were overgrowing and she noticed that some of the branches were withering. If she were to harvest and prune them now, they could be hung and salvaged. Maester Lewin must have been caught up with his other duties to have time to tend the gardens. Jeyne picked up the basket and scissors at the entrance, hooking her arm through the wicker.

"My enemies? Fortunately, I don't think I've earned too many just yet."

Jeyne didn't wish to mention that he'd probably earned an enemy of his cousin, Steffon, as long as he doted on her. It didn't matter, seeing that Steffon would be returning south and Jeyne would be safe and far away from him in Winterfell. She knelt down in front of one of the planets that was becoming overgrown with poppies, lavender, and bloodroot. The lavender was overtaking the poppies, absorbing the light it was getting by overshadowing the brilliant flowers.

She began snipping at the lavender, tripping down the collection of flowers that had nearly turned into a shrub. She removed the dryest limbs first, tracking inward to leave the heart intact. Placing the soft hued and aromatic lavender stems into the basket, she was nearly unaware that Robb was still hovering nearby. Greywind was sticking his nose into the dirt, trying to figure out just what she was doing.

"Do you know what each of these do?" Robb had gotten down beside her to investigate as well, just as curious as his wolf.

"Do you?" she shot back.

"Poppy seeds are used for the milk of poppy," he said, touching the wilting crimson petals of one flower that was sagging over, laden with tiny black seeds. "An agent that helps with pain and also eases the drinker into sleep."

"It can be used in dream wine," Jeyne nodded. "What about this?" she held a lavender stem up at him, wagging it like a wand.

"For… perfume?"

"Lavender can also be used in combination for quelling pain and swelling. Nerve pain between fingers or joint issues can be solved with lavender as well as sore muscles. I've even read that a salve can be created of lavender for burns, which effectively reduced the scarring process. For a flower that smells good, it certainly as quite a few uses," she turned the stem to her nose and inhaled the sedative aroma.

The distant sound of footsteps over dirty stones crunched behind them, causing Greywind's ears to prick up. When the trio turned to see who was approaching, Jory Cassel dipped his head respectively. Jeyne had a creeping feeling as to why he was there, but gave Jory a polite smile.

"My lord... My lady," he addressed her courteously before fixating his attention on Robb, who was pushing himself up to his feet. "I apologize for interrupting, but your attention has been requested by your father. King Robert wishes to go hunting in the wolfswood."

Robb pursed his lips, his brows hanging over his clear eyes before he nodded slowly. "Very well," he agreed before turning to Jeyne, an apologetic look consuming him. "Lady Jeyne-"

"It's quite alright," she smirked, waving him away delicately. "I can find my way back, I don't believe myself so helpless that I can't ask for directions if I do manage to get lost. Additionally, I think this will occupy me for a great time."

Robb breathed a laugh at her attitude. "Perhaps later we can go riding if time permits it."

"If not, there is always time tomorrow," Jeyne shrugged.

"That there is," Robb concured. "Greywind will stay with you," he set his eyes on his wolf pup as if to insist that he were to remain in place. The grey canine didn't seem to mind as Jeyne had given him another carrot to munch on. Letting his tail thump against the dirt tossed floor in agreement, Greywind had no other opinion to voice against the idea.

Once Robb had gone with Jory, Greywind lifted his head and huffed, blowing a cloud of dust up from the soil that had fallen out of the planter. Jeyne, in her chipper mood, began humming "The Bear and The Maiden Fair" while she was working. She knew why Robb Stark was in her company so often since her arrival, seeing that he was the eldest and also not betrothed. She suspected that it was the hope of Ned that she would choose his son to create a union with, to bind the Arryns with the Starks and also bring Lysa closer to her Tully sister.

Just the thought of the peevish woman made her shudder uncomfortably as she began clearing out more debris and dead plants from inside the overgrown box. Why had Lysa been so quick to leave? Jeyne had her own theories, but one twisted her stomach as if a knife was in her belly. Could it be possible that Lysa had a hand in her father's death and had deflected skepticism by claiming he had been murdered? It was no secret that Lysa had no love for her father. Having been twice the age of her when they married, and with a legitimate child clinging to his cloak, Lysa had hated everything from his missing teeth and breath to aquiline nose. She did not see the worthy man, only the aging one that was of an age of her father. Certainly, Jeyne pitied her for the marriage arrangement, but Lysa was uncouth and possessed none of the qualities of a true lady. She was outwardly contemptuous, disdainful, and tactless. Her aging did not help to settle her mood, rather she grew more prickly and insisted that the only way to make Robyn better was to continue to nurse him and keep him hidden inside stone halls.

Mind dancing back to the original topic of Robb Stark, she found herself mistified with an answer. Her father had sent her to Ned for protection, but he knew that there were also boys of a similar age. At his memory, a mischievous smile crawled over Jeyne's face at her father's webs he had weaved. He might have given her a choice, but he'd also sent her to Winterfell where there was an obvious choice. Still lilting her throat in the ribald song of "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" she gazed up through the glass and into the greyish blue sky, wondering if Jon was smiling down at her now.

_Nothing is that simple father, we shall see where time takes us. You did give me a choice, _she mused in a silent prayer, only to be snapped back to reality when Greywind got to his paws and began growling.

"You always did have a lovely voice. I miss the years I used to get to hear you playing the harp," the familiar voice sent disconcerting shivers down her spine as if iciles had been dragged against her flesh. "Even if that song is rather stupid. I always thought of you to be more of a songbird rather than a falcon."

Slowly, Jeyne craned her head to glance at Steffon, who had managed to locate her. It wouldn't have been hard for him to inquire, servants had probably noticed that she and Robb had gone to the glass gardens. None would be aware of the relationship between them... or the lack thereof. Steffon preferred to fancy that she was playing hard to get, he wasn't often turned down. Jeyne was adamant that she'd rarely grace him with her presence.

Picking up her basket, she glanced down at Greywind who could sense her unease, fur bristling at the Baratheon. She brushed her hand along his shoulders to put him at ease, hoping that the direwolf would not attack him. Obedient and observant, the canine pressed against her leg as she stood up, placing himself purposely between her and Steffon, acting as a hound sized barrier.

"Perhaps you'll sing a song for me?" Steffon appeared to be in a rather stellar mood despite the lack of answer from Jeyne. From the curve of his lips and the brightness in his eyes, she'd say he'd won some sort of small, trivial victory. Whatever it was, she didn't plan to find out.

"I'm afraid that I've got to deliver these to Maester Lewin. The garden needed some trimming and I went ahead and did that for him," she kept one palm against Greywind's back.

"The maester sent you to do peasant work? That's unbecoming of a lady of your caliber, Jeyne. I'll find the old man and make certain-"

"It was in goodwill, he did not ask me to," Jeyne interrupted before he could decide he'd cause an uproar over an assigned task that wasn't assigned.

"Then he won't mind if I occupy your time for a short while," Steffon replied chipperly.

"I heard a party is going hunting. Perhaps there is time yet to join them," she deflected, her legs moving beneath her so that she could step around one of the planters and toward the main path where the exit could be found.

"Won't be much of a hunt," Steffon snorted indignantly, trailing after her. "I mean, have you seen the Starks clopping around? The whole forest will hear them coming from miles away."

The door was just in view along with an excuse twisting to her lips as she approached it, heart fluttering at the idea of being free of the prince. However, as her fingers reached out imploringly for the handle, another arm, much longer than hers, held the frame shut. Jeyne could feel his breath on the back of her neck and knew that if she turned, she'd be pinned. Her fingers glanced Greywind's fur before the wolf slipped out of her reach. She had intended to hold him by the scruff to prevent the creature from attacking Steffon.

Jeyne swallowed heavily and turned, steadying her hand as she felt her fingers begin to quake. Memories flashed in front of her eyes and when she turned to be faced this close by Steffon she pressed her back to the door like a cornered animal, trapped in a cage from which she could not fly out of. Hate was a strong word, but Jeyne loathed him and every fiber of his being. She would not show her fear, lowering a defiant glare of icy blue at the prince as he leaned over her.

"You don't belong up here. One word and my father will bring you back south. All you have to do is ask," Steffon told her, reaching forward to touch one of the stray curls that had come loose from her braid.

Jeyne resisted the overwhelming urge to slap him away, knowing that would only provoke his anger. "I will not go against my father's wishes," she replied through gritted teeth.

"Wishes are wind, especially when those who made them are dead," Steffon shrugged.

Jeyne was gobsmacked by this answer, almost as if the very memory of her father was nothing. She wanted to demand if he thought the same of his late mother, he was part Stark too, though the Baratheon gleamed through on all fronts. She was so offended that she couldn't formulate words, her breath quickening in her chest as the overwhelming urge to slap him nearly consumed her. Not that she needed to because Greywind was there. The wolf had seen enough, gauging the situation for a time before lunging forward, grabbing Steffon by the boot.

Steffon, astounded that the direwolf had attacked him, was thrown off balance and wheeled backward. Greywind had not bit him hard enough to sink his teeth through the leather boots, but he had a firm grip and pulled the prince right off of his feet. With a loud thump, Steffon landed on his rear, smearing wet dirt all over his fine doublet and trousers. His face began flushing an angry red like the cherry tomatoes that were growing nearby.

Undaunted, Greywind leveled a challenging glare at Steffon. Try it again and he would make certain to find purchase in the prince's flesh.

"Greywind, come," Jeyne ordered quickly, opening the door and slipping out before Steffon could get back onto his feet. The wolf padded after her quickly, pressing to her leg again and snuffing up to see her reaction. Even if she couldn't verbally praise him, but she gave him affectionate pet on the head and strode as quickly as her legs would take her away from the glass gardens. _Clever wolf, if he had spilled blood, Steffon would have demanded his pelt for a cloak._


	4. Chapter 4

_Arya_

Sansa was the biggest crybaby ever. The king wasn't going to spend forever in the north with their cousins, especially when their father turned down his request to become the next Hand. They'd be leaving soon. Arya hadn't been around when it happened, but she could tell that none of the Baratheons were used to hearing the words 'no' all too often. She'd overheard her mother trying to calm down Sansa, who was married to the idea that she would go south to court. Arya was relieved that she wouldn't have to leave the familiar halls of Winterfell and could continue to cause mischief. Sansa kept blubbering about how it wasn't fair and Arya writhed in pleasure from her sister's wallowing. At least if took the fixation off of Arya and she could continue to slink around the grounds without being bothered.

That morning Arya had already skipped Septa Mordane's lessons. She had been placed in additional embroidering classes, to which she felt she'd fall asleep. There was no pleasure in learning how to make flowers with thread and Arya hated dresses anyways. A useless talent in her opinion. Couldn't they just pay someone to do it so she wouldn't have to? Since she had skipped the lesson, she knew that Mordane would be prowling around Winterfell like a shark looking for the tiniest droplet of blood in the water. She'd found a perch in the archery range, chancing her luck with a bow. Her splendor would be short lived and eventually she'd be corralled by her mother or the septa.

Reaching down she plucked an arrow from the basket as if it were a flower, brushing the fletchings within her fingers as she knocked it on the bow. She hadn't sought a bow out with a specific draw weight and inhaled sharply as she snapped it back taught and lined up her shot. When the arrow was let loose it whistled from beside her ear and plunked into the target satisfyingly. Arya had retrieved a few more to continue her practice, each driving her confidence as she grouped together.

"Spectacular shooting," Arya's head moved as if on a swivel, glancing at the person who had spoken to her. When she found them, it was Lady Jeyne Arryn.

Arya cocked her head, still trying to decide how she felt about Jeyne. Over the course of the few days that the Arryn had been there, she was beginning to feel more and more relaxed around her. Since Sansa was fond of her, Arya had thought that she was going to hate Jeyne. Instead, the woman had a rather solid head on her shoulders and wasn't fooled by all the southron pleasantries that Sansa was. While she still poised herself as a lady, arya noticed the strength in her words and the intelligent rebuttals, knowing when to remain even and when to strike, almost like parrying and attacking. If southron ladies were anything like the falcon, Sansa would stand no chance.

Arya had no opinion other than neutral in regards to Jeyne. She did recall that Jeyne had mentioned she also knew how to use a bow. "Thanks," Arya muttered, trying not to show her delight that someone had noticed and not just told her to put it back down. "You said you knew how to shoot, right?"

"I might know a thing or two," she admitted politely, always speaking smoothly and crisply.

Arya stuck out her bow, even though Jeyne was several paces away. She had already noted that the falcon was wearing a riding gown and boots of the pale Vale blue, matching her mystical eyes. "You said we might get to practice together eventually. Why not now?"

Jeyne took the bow, pausing to inspect the fibers of the string and let out a delicate sigh. "Not my bow, but it'll do," she muttered before taking over the lane that Arya had been using. She seized an arrow and with astounding ease, pulled the string back and released the arrow with little reprieve. The first flew into the same target that Arya had been using, grouping with the rest of her. Bending over, she grabbed multiple arrows, stowing the shafts betwixt her fingers as she began firing rapidly. Arya watched with critical eyes, believing the next was going to veer off uncontrollably, but gasped when the arrows flew and struck home not in her target, but the targets sitting in the other lanes. Despite the tight angles that she had been working, the Arryn had no issue making her mark.

"Where did you learn to shoot like that?" Arya gazed up at Lady Jeyne was a newly kindled respect.

"I started when I was about Rickon's age. It didn't amount to much until I returned to the Vale. It's very windy there, especially up in the mountains. You have to be able to predict where your arrow will fall in conjunction with the wind. Here, without moving and little wind, it's quite easy to hit a stationary target," Jeyne explained logically before giving Arya the bow back.

"Did you ever kill anyone?"

Before Arya could get an answer all hell broke loose in the yard they had been practicing. "Arya Stark!" Septa Mordane's shrill voice nearly popped her eardrums as she came stomping toward them. "How many times has your mother told you not to play with weapons? Not to mention you skipped your lessons this morning!" Her habit hid her hair, making her face seem even more like a blueberry as she purpled at the sight of Arya.

"Oh, she had a lesson this morning?" Jeyne turned around, addressing the septa.

"Lady Jeyne," Mordane must have glanced over Jeyne while rapt in fury. "Yes, Lady Arya was supposed to meet with me for early morning lessons."

"I apologize then, I asked Arya if she would meet me this morning. I hadn't realized that would interfere with her lessons," Jeyne replied discreetly, dipping her head apologetically in Mordane's direction. Arya remained quiet, uncertain why Jeyne was vouching for her. What motive did she have? Would Arya have to pay her back?

"Arya? Is that why you came out here?" Septa Mordane fixated her attention on the girl again.

"Yes, I didn't know how to tell Lady Jeyne no, so I came here instead," Arya said dolefully, as if she were filled with an immense amount of guilt over the blunder.

"Why didn't you just tell me? I could have rescheduled your lesson so you could meet with Lady Jeyne," Mordane scowled, met with a small shrug from Arya. She didn't think it would have been that easy to pull the wool over the septa's eyes, but she was clearly blind when it came to handling a lady she wasn't quite familiar with.

"I can take Lady Arya and go over some lessons with her if you'd prefer. What was she needing to work on?" Jeyne offered.

"She needed additional lessons on her embroidering. She's absolutely hopeless in that respect, can't even hem a sleeve evenly. But I wouldn't expect you to do that..."

"I made the mistake of cross scheduling her, so I will make up for it," Jeyne insisted, Arya suddenly feeling incredibly appreciative that she wouldn't have to spend hours listening to Mordane not only criticize her work, but berate her for not being at her lesson.

"Well..." Septa Mordane had not been expecting any of this. "Very well. Arya I want to see your work when you are done."

Arya nodded eagerly and watched as Septa Mordane left the yard, a small victory for her. She had been dubious of the blonde Arryn before, but now she was beaming up at her, grey eyes shining. "Why did you help me? Not that I'm not appreciative..." Arya drawled, wondering what propelled the woman to make such a choice.

Jeyne chuckled. "Because I used to get in trouble for the same thing, only the Septa I had watching over me was way more foul tempered. She used to hit the back of my hands with knitting needles as punishment," she flexed her hands, as if the memory still pained her. "In addition, yelling at someone isn't going to fix their faults."

Arya didn't want to learn how to sew well, she thought it was a useless talent, but she supposed she should have been thankful that she didn't have to spend the time being chastised. Lady Jeyne seemed like she was by the books, even if she had just lied to save Arya from a worse fate. She'd rather gouge her eyes out than have to spend anymore time with the septa. At least if she had no eyes, then her shoddy needlework would make sense.

"So are we going to go practice?" she mumbled, still not looking forward to the prospect.

"I did promise Septa Mordane," Jeyne mused, a light twinkling in her sky blue eyes that made Arya hopeful. "And it's such a nice day, why don't we go get our thread and cloth and sit outside?"

Septa Mordane never let them practice outside, seeing there were far too many distractions. Arya would occupy herself with the sparring or the conversations between those who worked in the castle. Plus, in one of Winterfell's many courtyards, Septa Mordane couldn't scream at her with so many people milling around. Arya had never been more eager for a lesson in sewing in her life.

"I'll go get my things," Arya said before skirting away like the devilish pup she was, Nymeria hot on her heels as she dashed under tables, below feet, nearly causing one of the bakers to tumble with a basket filled with bread. She snickered as he cursed, not realizing who had just sent him reeling. How many servants wished for the chance to berate her? Arya probably couldn't count them all on her fingers and toes. She made it to the Great Keep in record time and sprinted into her room, hair flying away in a wild mess, before she paused, chest heaving, to grab the bolt of brocade she had been trying to embroider.

When Arya made it back to the courtyard where she had left Lady Jeyne, she noticed that the Arryn was sitting on a haybale near the armory. Typically, men would spar over there and it wasn't uncommon for women to sit nearby and watch. That afternoon, Robb was out with Theon and Bran. Jeyne had sprawled a pretty sky blue silken gown over her lap and had grey thread between her fingers. She lifted her head and smiled when she noticed Arya was trying not to drag the equipment she had brought with her. Hopping onto the hay bale beside her, she unfurled her work and glanced over at what Jeyne was making.

Arya's eyes nearly bulged out of her head. For all the whimsical remembering of how poor her work used to be, Jeyne had seriously improved over the years. In the grey thread was the front half of the Stark running direwolf with glinting beads to accentuate the eyes and claws. She wanted to hide her own work, which was still basic when compared to the elaborate embroidery that Jeyne was capable of crafting. But before Arya could protest, Jeyne had bent over and touched her lattice to get a better look at what she had done.

Arya's attempt at making a simple green vine and a flower was going miserably. The vine was uneven as she hadn't used the same amount of thread to thicken it on both sides. Her flower was depressed and wasn't three dimensional like the work Sansa did. Her cheeks and ears burned and she regretted that she had ever fancied the idea of bringing her awful work outside.

"You could still salvage that," Jeyne told her, running her finger along the vine. "Try bringing the stitch across horizontally to cover what you've made. You can use what you already have down as the bones. One you do that you can add some thorns and begin working on the flower." She lifted her own work and pointed out the style of threading she had meant. Arya didn't think they looked too hard and began to fumble her needle and thread. Even if she didn't like sewing, she didn't want to look like a buffoon in front of Jeyne.

Arya had been hard at work for a solid amount of time, fixating her every fiber on not messing this up. She was only napped from her daze when she heard, "Cousin!" being shouted across the yard, her grey eyes lifting to inspect Steffon as he sauntered toward where the Stark boys and Theon were practicing. "You promised me a spar, remember?"

Steffon Baratheon made Arya vexed for some, unexplainable reason. It was in the way he walked, talked, and dressed. Balancing upon an air of superiority, even his own cousins were beneath him. Steffon had barely given Arya the time of day when she'd tried to ask him what he'd named his sword. For someone who was to be king one day, she thought he lacked charisma. King Robert, though growing fat and depressed since the death of Aunt Lyanna, was more sincere than his posturing eldest.

"That I did," Robb agreed, wiping the sweat on his brow with his sleeve, stepping away from Bran. Arya hadn't been watching to see what lessons they were going over, but it had been enough to break a sweat for Robb.

"Well, let's have it then," Steffon was looking for a crowd and he had one. Sansa and Jeyne Poole came sputtering up behind him, which led Arya to believe that they might have been accompanying him before this.

Theon gave Robb a weary glance before picking up a pair of proper practice sword. The wooden swords he had been using with Bran were unweighted and much more forgiving when one struck true. He placed one in Robb's hand and as the prince walked up, shoved it gruffly in his palm. Arya caught the look in his dark eyes before turning away from Steffon. By now the crown prince had made a point to snuff most of the other men his age and even off put those that were older than him. Arya had no idea what Sansa might have seen in him other than his appearance and even then, Arya didn't think he was _that _handsome.

_Kick his ass Robb, _Arya thought, leaning forward on the hay bale as Bran backed off. Greywind padded over and sat by Jeyne's feet, watching as the match was about to progress. Robb was probably the best swordsman in all of Winterfell, at least… Other than Jon, who had since moved to Castle Black to join the Night's Watch. Theon was more suited to the bow and Robb was stocky and broad, his strikes much stronger than Jon's had been.

Steffon and Robb circled one another, waiting for the first decision to be made. Patience was a virtue and Steffon did not possess it. After a solid minute of no one making a move he drove forward, his sword making a swishing noise as it arked through the air. Robb caught him, glancing the blow away and turning Steffon. The prince's footwork was shoddy, but he was quick. Robb nearly hit him with the side of his blade, but Steffon whirled, parrying. Taking the brunt of an attack from Robb sent Steffon skittering back, dirt kicking up in a small cloud.

Back on his feet and with a solid foundation, Steffon continued his assault, the blows falling quicker than a downpour of rain. Robb kept up, the work was predictable, even if fast. All he had to do was keep up and wait until Steffon's sword arm became too tired to maintain the sleuth. Forced a a few paces back, Robb's slight retreat made Steffon believe that he had an advantage. His expectations were premature and he expended a great deal of energy trying to hack his way through Robb's defenses. With one strong turn, Robb knocked Steffon's blade aside and had him pinned with practice sword wagging in his face.

_That's it! Robb won, _Arya thought smugly.

Lady Jeyne yelped and Arya saw why. Like a flash of lightning Steffon had lunged forward, Robb's sword just passed by him and with a rough shoulder, Steffon caught Robb full in the face. The prince overstepped his cousin by a handful of inches and with a crunch, Robb stumbled backward, reaching up with his free hand to grab his nose.

"_Cheater_!" Arya screamed, jumping to her feet as Lady Jeyne threw her dress on the hay bale and ran over to help Robb.

"Hold your head up, let me see- Oh no, it might be broken," Lady Jeyne had removed Robb's hand to reveal rivulets of blood spewing from his nostrils and down his chin like a red tide. Arya noticed that his nose was not in the right position and while she was fascinated by what she saw, she heard Jeyne Poole gasping in covering her mouth as tears collected in her eyes. Sansa was just at horrified, her eyes stretched wide as Lady Jeyne corralled Robb out of the courtyard and in the direction of Maester Lewin's tower.

Arya's eyes were not fixated on her brother, but her cousin who was basking in his own eminence as he watched with satisfaction as Robb dripped blood across the tiltyard. Why was he so triumphant? He had been defeated, had it been a real battle Robb would have just run him through. Steffon's attack had been intentional, there was no accidental charge in which a nose was broken. He _wanted _to hurt Robb and that was what infuriated Arya as she stood fuming, glaring at her cousin.

_Robb_

Pain radiated from his from his temple and his beard was sticky with his own blood. He hadn't expected it or saw it coming until the shoulder rushed up to meet his face. A sickening crunch echoed in his head and before he knew what was happening and when he blinked his eyes open, the blonde hair Jeyne was easing his head back and inspecting the damage. "We need to go see Maester Lewin," Jeyne was saying, making certain he was holding his head back. With a gentle hand she kept a hand at the small of his back and guided him in the direction of the turret. Head still pounding, keeping his head back did little more than disorient him further.

It didn't take a genius to tell that Steffon had purposely bashed him in the face. Robb had him pinned and in a true sword fight, Steffon would have been dead. Was this repayment for taking Lady Jeyne to the feast? For spending time with her? He'd spent the entirety of the past couple of days hunting with King Robert in spite of his mother's directions to be courteous to the Arryn. His father had not wanted to spend too much time away from Winterfell and put Robb in his stead. Robb had been itching to return and even invited Jeyne to go riding that afternoon before he'd gotten his nose broken.

_Almost as if Steffon knew that, _he thought, feeling his legs carry himself up the stairs.

"Maester Lewin? Maester-" Jeyne was knocking on the door with little answer.

"He's probably out around the grounds. The door should be unlocked," Robb told her.

Jeyne jiggled the door and pushed it open. "Sit down, I'll get something to stop the bleeding. Keep your head tilted back," she directed, placing him right down in the chair. "Here, use this to staunch your nose," she handed him a clump of gauze and then returned to sifting through the neatly labeled vials and jars. Robb managed to clean up some of his face and lower his head to see that Jeyne was mixing various substances and grinding them. When she turned around Robb saw that the sleeves of her pale dress were covered in blood and her chest was also spattered.

"Oh your dress…" Robb drawled.

Jeyne gave him sardonic look before reaching to remove his hand to inspect the damage. "I'm going to have to set this," she warned him.

"And you know what you're doing?" Robb didn't mean to seem doubtful, especially after she'd told him that she had studied to be a healer. His nose was still leaking and ached.

"How long would you be willing to wait for Maester Lewin to return?" Jeyne challenged, her clear eyes pinning him to his spot.

Robb only managed a choke laugh.

"Looks like it was just bashed hard, not a clean fracture," Jeyne seized his cheeks and took his nose between her fingers. Just the slightest touch made pain lance up his head and down his neck. With a small adjustment his nose was straight again along with a new flood of blood pouring out. "Your skin is a bit torn, just remain there and I'll patch you up. I've created a bit of medicine for you to drink, it'll take the edge off your pain without putting you to sleep like milk of the poppy."

Robb watched as she worked in her ruined dress, feeling guilty that she had ruined one of her gowns looking after him. Perhaps he should have expected the unexpected and he wouldn't have wound up with an injured nose. Jeyne returned, dabbing the torn skin on his nose with a salve, placing strips of cut gauze over the wound.

"Your nose is going to bleed for a bit, but fortunately it wasn't a solid break so it shouldn't need to be splinted," she trailed over to a basin of water and rang a cloth over it, seizing a small looking glass. Offering Robb the cloth to wipe his face with he could finally survey the damage through the mirror. It wasn't as bad he had originally assumed, despite the pain that resonated throughout his head there was just a lot of blood. While he was wiping away the blood from his face and chin, Jeyne prepared the medicine, reappearing to offer it to him. Not sweet like the milk of poppy, he choked on the bitterness and the way it sloughed slowly down his throat.

"So much for going riding today," Robb muttered, trying to crack a smile.

Lady Jeyne rolled her eyes at him and began cleaning up the jars she removed for access. "Men never have their priorities straight. You'll need to rest for the remainder of the day, Lord Robb," she had returned to her typically poised form, the glean beneath while she had been working vanishing.

"Robb," he reminded her, noticing a small smile on her face as she shook her head at him.

"The sooner you've slept off your injury, the sooner you can sit a horse again," Jeyne told him lightly, the door creaking open. Maester Lewin had just returned to his turret, glancing between the two of them and then settling his gaze on Robb.

"I heard from Sansa that your nose might be broken and hurried back to my study. I hadn't thought that you'd already be in good hands," Lewin remarked, approaching him to survey the work on Robb's nose. "Has he taken any medicine aside from the salve you've applied?"

"A coagulant with anti-inflammatory to keep the pain and swelling down. Just a mild fracture, not a full break," Jeyne replied evenly, gesturing to some of the herbs she had utilized.

"Hm yes, set back properly as well. I heard from Maester Colemon that you studied under Maester Helliweg," Lewin seemed impressed by her work.

"I spent a great deal of time at Runestone while in the Vale, as House Royce is among our most staunch and loyal vassals. Maester Helliweg was more than willing to teach me among my other duties that I tended to," Jeryne reported politely before giving Robb one more glance.

"I'll see that Lord Robb is brought back to his chambers and rests," Lewin told her, glancing at her blood speckled gown. "A shame about your dress though, my lady."

Jeyne snorted wryly with a bit of a twisted smile. "A gown is replaceable. Do listen to Maester Lewin, Lord Robb," she bid before taking her leave to go and clean up.

_Why would she think I wouldn't listen to him? _Robb wondered curiously as she vanished, leaving him alone in the maester's turret with Lewin. "I don't believe I got the entire truth of how this happened," Lewin remarked as he continued to clean the clutter up on one of his various tables, pushing jars back onto shelves with the labels facing out. "Sansa told me that you had been sparring with the crown prince and in the process had been shouldered while parrying."

Robb didn't know if he should ask Lewin to inspect Sansa's eyesight or if he should just be cross with her because she was obviously covering for Steffon. Sansa was the good girl, her word amounting to more than that of his younger brothers and Theon combined. "And what do you believe happened?" Robb prompted, trying to gauge how he might react.

"I can't say for certain seeing as I was not there, but Arya was vehement, Jeyne Poole was crying, and Theon appeared as if he were going to throw a fist at Steffon. Now for Sansa to say such a thing might be due to her affections for her cousin, but I'm a bit taken aback still," Lewin rationalized, still waiting on Robb for an answer.

"I had him finished, sword at his heart and the match had ended. He blew by the sword and shouldered me. I'm not certain how it looked from a spectator's point of view, but there wasn't any call for it," Robb finally conceded and let Lewin know.

The maester let out a low hum in the back of his throat and shook his head in disdain. "A very jaded boy. I only knew of one who could best you and that was your brother, Jon."

The dim reminder of his bastard brother, now at the Wall, slipped through his mind. He wished Jon had been around now or if Steffon had faced Jon, would the same outcome had occurred. There was something about Jeyne Arryn that made Steffon's already brittle attitude worsen toward him. Jealousy, certainly, though Robb had no idea why. Jeyne was just as any proper lady should be and didn't dote on him, aside from her assistance with his nose. _It's because she's going to be left here and he has to return south_, Robb thought, removing the gauze to see how steadily the blood was coming out.

The flow wasn't too bad, but he replaced the tissue to keep up from making a mess of his face again. Lewin flashed another vial in his hand and gave it to Robb. "Take this with a full cup of water. I want you to get some rest, it's just dream wine," the maester informed him. "You are fine to walk on your own, my lord?"

Robb pushed himself to his feet and nodded. "I should be fine," he glanced down to see Greywind was curled up beside his feet. Robb was impressed that the direwolf hadn't lunged at Steffon, perhaps believing the attack had been apart of their shenanigans. Climbing to his paws he gave Robb was dubious look before antsily starting for the door. Descending the turret, slightly lightheaded, Robb had only made it halfway across the courtyard when he heard a set of feet patter up beside him. When he glanced down, he noticed that Arya was following him, her eyes stretched wide as she inspected the damage that had been done to her brother.

"Is it broken?" Arya asked with a morbid interest.

"Slightly fractured, not too bad," Robb insisted.

"He cheated. He was beat and he threw a tantrum and hurt you. That's not a good king to be if I've ever seen one," Arya muttered grudgingly.

While he appreciated her honesty, words like that could burn her in the future. Robb gave her a lopsided smile. "It's fine, my nose will heal."

"And he'll still be smug because he got away with it," Arya snipped prudely. "At least, that's what he thinks."

"Arya what did you do?"

"I did what was right," she retorted stubbornly.

_Catelyn_

Maintaining Winterfell to host the king was a daunting task, not to mention the food they wasted each night that he was there. Mind listing through the requisitions,, Catelyn thought she was going go have a heart attack if the king stayed for much longer. Not to mention that Argella preferred desserts and sweets that required honey and fruit that was out of season. How did one tell their royal niece no? With each day they lingered in Winterfell, precious coin was slipping between her fingers. The king wasn't going to reimburse them and he also wasn't going to tell them to be courteous and not make requests for amenities that were not common in the north. At least Lyanna had reigned her children in unlike Robert who let them do as they pleased.

Catelyn already had a difficult time watching her own children, but in conjunction with the royal ones she felt as if her head were going to explode. Between Beron and Rickon getting into bouts, Argella's prim requests for finer delicacies, and now Steffon trying to break Robb's nose. She just thanked the Gods that her own children were among the more mild mannered, in spite of Sansa's meltdown when Ned had told her he had no intention of sending her south or any of their family. Even in light of the letter that Lysa had sent, Catelyn's doubt had filled her once she had spoked with Jeyne Arryn. The girl was as polite as she could be, but the grief of losing her father still lined her. She had his look aside from his nose, the light blonde Arryn hair and clear, sky blue eyes. All resolve Catelyn had against her evaporated and was scattered to the wind when Catelyn saw her for the first time again.

_She's an intelligent girl and a good match for Robb, _Catelyn had told herself multiple times, but she needed to know more of what had happened in House Arryn. Cat had never seen her nephew Robyn and there were many mysteries surrounding him. She hadn't take many breaks since learning that the royal entourage would be at Winterfell, but with their visit nearing its tail end, Catelyn sent an invitation for Jeyne Arryn to join her for some tea in her chambers.

Sinking into a plush chair, the velvet worn away from the years it had been in Winterfell. Catelyn oft believed that the chair had seen more years than she had, but still was astoundingly comfortable despite its weathered and lackluster appearance. Most summer days in the north were not exceptionally warm, but that late afternoon the sun had peeked through the clouds and cast its tendrils of warmth on her. Like a feline basking, she enjoyed the rare treat she had been awarded while waiting for Jeyne's arrival.

Catelyn had left the door ajar and a solid rap resounding through her chambers before it creaked open and the Arryn entered. Looking at the girl, she wondered if her grandchildren would have Tully blue eyes or the sky blue of the Arryns. Would they have pale blonde hair, auburn, or brown? _Too soon to be thinking of that, _Catelyn couldn't hide the smile as she thought about the prospective match for her eldest son. Ned's previous inquiries had been from all over the north, Alys Karstark among the most promising.

"Good afternoon, my lady," Jeyne greeted politely, her light hair was pinned up in a loose bun.

Catelyn motioned for her to take a seat, dispensing of the silly courtesies that they typically had to deal with. Seeing they were in the privacy of Catelyn's chambers she saw no point in creating such a facade. She grew weary of darting around words, trying to make certain one did not offend another. A gentle breeze caught them on the balcony and Catelyn sat up, grasping the hot teapot by the handle.

"Would you like some tea?" Catelyn prompted, pouring herself another so that she could toast her fingers around the porcelain. The weather might have been nice, but her fingers still got chilled from the air and it was absolutely dreadful having freezing fingers.

"Please," Jeyne nodded, accepting a cup of the black spiced tea. After adding some cream and sugar cubes to her cup she settled back in the chair. "I am glad to get the chance to speak with you privately. The days have been so busy that I haven't gotten to properly thank you for your hospitality."

"You are to make a home of Winterfell for an undisclosed amount of time and I know what it's like coming here," she was about to say 'for the first time' but this was not Jeyne's first visit in Winterfell. Jeyne had come multiple times before with Jon Arryn and the Lyanna Stark in her earlier years. "Especially when there are few friends around you."

"The Starks have always been my friends," Jeyne reminded her, an intelligent glint behind her clear eyes as she sipped delicately from her cup. "Even if the years have removed us, I forget not that my father trusted you and Lord Eddard beyond count."

Catelyn felt a smile touch her face as she observed Jeyne's habits, the curve of how she held her cup, the eye contact that was not intrusive, but also rapt and giving her undivided attention, how she held herself straight in the chair without a bow in her back. Each were little tokens of a lady trained and bred, tokens that Catelyn had been scrutinizing of any other girls who might be a match for Robb. Ned might have been pleased with her disposition and title as an Arryn, but Catelyn needed the peace of mind that she was not a miscreant, especially after all of the stories that she had led her own Valemen against the wildling Hill Tribes.

"Yes well, we're family in a manner of speaking, seeing that my sister is your step mother," Catelyn brought the subject around to what her mind had been fixated on. Lysa had sent a letter to her, written in a language they had created when they were children. She wondered if Jeyne suspected that her father was poisoned, because Lysa was convinced. "How is Lysa faring, if you don't mind me asking?"

The warm expression that Jeyne had was replaced by a cold, stoic one, her eyes icy and her lips pursed. "How do you remember her?" she gave a question instead of an answer.

How did Catelyn remember her sister? It had been so many years since she had seen Lysa. "She was a girl last I saw her, terrified of moving so far away from her family. At the same time I was wedding Ned, so I comforted her, father would not marry her to a man who was not fair and just. Her letters became less frequent over the years until I was barely talking to her at all," Catelyn blinked back the pain, the thought that she had let her relationship with her sister slip between her fingers like river water.

"I…" Jeyne paused to consider her words carefully. "If you want my honesty, I shall give it. If you wish to remember Lysa as she was, the innocent and sweet sister, I shall also understand."

Catelyn's brows furrowed followed by a slight rise of anger. "What do you mean?" her voice was sharper than she intended, but Jeyne did not balk or shrink away.

With a soft clink, Jeyne had set her cup down on the plate and glanced up at Catelyn. "So you choose my honesty?"

Catelyn did not speak, her fingers tightening around the warm porcelain.

"Lysa never loved my father, that much was as obvious as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. I cannot fault her for that, seeing he was twice her age and it was a marriage for politics and alliance rather than love. Such is the chance we noble women take, we are pawns to be moved and traded for a large amount of swords. An idea that my father came to loathe seeing how his third marriage turned out. However, as the years passed her patience waned… What little of it she already possessed. Her hatred became more plain and as the saying goes, if you make a face enough times it'll wear marks in your face.

"At a point I thought Lysa was very beautiful and I was eager to call her my mother, I was very young when she married my father. But Lysa never loved me either and I was always a dim reminder that she had to create a legitimate heir or be shamed by the daughter of a late wife. She miscarried multiple times, each one wearing harder on her, making her look older than her years. And with each stillborn her resentment for me grew, especially since my father kept me so close. King's Landing didn't do much to help her temperament. I believe it only aggravated her further. With her beauty wilting before her eyes and the pain of many lost children, Lysa began losing herself to her emotions. I can understand why and I have never faulted her for that… At least, not until Robyn was borne.

"I never got to hold my little brother. Lysa must have believed that if I laid a finger on him he would shatter, seeing that he was borne sickly. I didn't think he would last past his first year, but when he did I tried to get close to him. Unfortunately, Lysa was incredibly protective of him. From me, father, and everyone in King's Landing. She coddled him and kept him locked in a stone chamber, doting toys on him, refusing to let him see the light of day in fear that it would kill him. Eventually, I returned to the Eyrie and began to hold the Vale in my father's stead. I suppose nothing changed, even the fact that she continued to nurse him past his toddler years. When news of father's death reached me, I flew there as quickly as I could and nearly there I passed Lysa, who had no intention of staying for the funeral processions. She was spewing this nonsense about my father being poisoned and how his murderer was in King's Landing. She demanded that I go with her and Robyn to the Eyrie to hide. But I would not miss my father's funeral. Not even if King's Landing was under siege."

The words were not what Catelyn wished to hear, but she let them wash over her. Nearly two decades from seeing her sister, it only made sense that she would have changed. "She told you that she believed your father was killed by poison?"

"Lysa was prone to hysterics, which was why she rarely went to court or was seen around King's Landing. I believe her assumption was a deflection. Even if she never loved my father she lost his protection when died."

"Lost his protection? Her son is the heir to the Vale," Catelyn pointed out, her mind rushing at the words that Jeyne had just shared with her.

"A Vale that is loyal to me," Jeyne countered and Catelyn's heart sunk. Her poise, her posture, the way that she spoke… Ned had said she was quite similar to her father, but Catelyn saw a woman that was much more dangerous. "Lysa shall be safe with Robyn, my people would never dare to hurt a hair on the boy's head. However, if she believes she has any power above me then she is sorely mistaken. I may be in Winterfell, but the shadows of my wings extend quite far."

_Years spent in the Vale, working alongside of her father's people. Of course they would defect to her, they know her. They do not know Lysa and they will see the weakness in Robyn, _Catelyn realized, staying her anger. Familu, Duty, Honor. By what chance was it that House Arryn had words opposite of her? As High as Honor? She had not ruffled the feathers of the falcon and instead, Catelyn felt as if she was the one who hadn't known the truth. Should she trust the words of Jeyne? She had seen the girl more times than her sister in the past fifteen years. Jeyne or Lysa? The scales were tipped toward her forlorn sister, but there was a chance they would tilt the other way.

"And would you have any reason to need the strength of the Vale?" Catelyn finally found her voice.

"If by chance my father was murdered for some reason, then yes, I would," Jeyne said, pouring herself more tea. "You have nothing to fear for the safety of your sister, my lady. However, I wouldn't put much weight behind her words until there is more evidence. Even I would like to fancy that my father submitted to poison, as it would give me someone to blame. But it's not always that easy to cope with grief is it? Pawn it off another just so you don't have to feel as bad? My father was not a young man."

Her anger fled as she saw the cynical countenance on the falcon. It was true. Wasn't it easier to blame someone for a death than to admit their time had come? Catelyn let out a breath she did not realize she was holding. Certainly this exchange was not as she had expected it to go. Perhaps she had thought there would be more demure conversation, only to see the falcon's talons.

"Yes, if it is true then I expect Ned would also support you," Catelyn informed her.

"And you?" driving right for the kill, Jeyne cocked a smile at her.

"That depends. Ned would support you because of your father," Catelyn sat up and placed her cup down. "You have a home here among us and will for as long as you need it. I've come to wonder if perhaps it will be a permanent home. If that were the case, I would be more than willing to help my niece by law."

"Family first, right? That's how it is with the Tullys. I can't say that I've had much of that luxury… Aside from the trust my father had in me," Jeyne let out a long sigh and relaxed back into her seat, casting her eyes out off the balcony and into the yard. "I will not make any promises."

"Robb is already fond of you," Catelyn said.

"I am a young lady of a similar age, certainly quite different than those he has met before. I will not act on a chance of fascination just to have him realize he dislikes me for how I truly am," Jeyne retorted crisply.

"You're lucky. I don't know of any high borne ladies who have the chance to decide their fate."

"But I don't really get to decide it do I? I also have duty of my own and my father trusted me to have the honor to do the right thing. In the end, I'm still a pawn," again, another bitter smile as she finished the rest of her tea. "You wish to protect your family; as a wife, as a mother. Give me time, see if Robb is still fond of me in the following months. Nothing truly lasts."

_Not with an outlook like that, _Catelyn noted duly. "I don't believe you're half as bad as you believe yourself to be Jeyne. Robb needs a strong woman such as yourself beside him. He's not like Ned, not entirely."

"I'm here indefinitely, so there shall be time to make a decision. I never like to be hasty, especially in such larger matters," Jeyne informed her.

"Perhaps that's why I've taken a liking to you as well. Men are always so keen at jumping to decisions, going by what their heart tells them and not their head. But you're more analytical. I overheard your conversation about tourneys and then Maester Lewin also informed me that you properly set Robb's nose back in place and made him a draught to help his pain."

"I do like numbers and studying, always have. King's Landing wasn't my favorite place in the world and so I did what I could to escape from it and the suitors. A lot of suitors found my intrigue in such scholarly endeavors to be boring. I wasn't the… brilliant rose or exciting lion. People found me to be cold."

"It's cold up here in the north and you've done well to fit in already. I once found Ned to be cold, but I've come to learn that it's all a guise, a way to protect yourself from the strife you've faced. Strong like ice, like the Wall, like a mountain… Perhaps Ned learned it from Jon and in turn, you possess those same qualities. At least, that portion of them…" she trailed off, finding that the topic of conversation had gotten rather heavy as she pried at Jeyne, trying to see past her smooth exterior. "I heard that Arya was caught with a bow this morning… With you. She missed one of Septa Mordane's additional lessons. How did she fare when you sat down with her?"

"It's difficult to say. Shortly after we began, the crown prince went and tried to break Robb's nose. I immediately went to assist him and didn't have time to catch up with Arya after," Jeyne said, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

_She says it's too early, but she's already at Robb's side when he's injured? _Catelyn smiled into her teacup. Perhaps Robb had more charm than she was giving him credit for. The Lady Jeyne was accustomed to the florid southron suitors, but not the stalwart northerners. Catelyn couldn't help but be impressed by Robb's hospitality thus far to have moved the young falcon such. "Hm yes, I know it's unbecoming to say, but I cannot wait until the royal party returns to King's Landing where it belongs."

"That I can agree to," Jeyne muttered grudgingly.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sansa_

He was leaving today and Sansa couldn't go with him. Between their secret rendezvous and stolen kisses in the Godswood, Sansa hated her father because he wouldn't let her go south. Sansa had been a good girl all her life, dreaming of the southron court. Now, the prince was in love with her and she wanted to have his beautiful black haired, blue eyed children. Sansa had never wanted anything more. Even when she had implored her father, breaking down in a fit of tears, he had not budged. How could he be so cruel?

Now this was to be their last meeting before he went back to King's Landing and Sansa had made certain that she would look as beautiful as possible. What if he just returned south and forgot about her? No, he would not forget about her, according to Steffon, she was the most comely woman he had ever laid eyes on. He saw her for what she truly was and one day, Sansa would be the queen.

The Godswood was ambient around her, soft chattering of birds in the tree, the sunlight trying to find a way to lance through the thick canopies of the densely packed trees. They were so easy to get lost in and discover a hidden alcove that no one would find in the shadows. Each day she dreamed of going out there, spending the time with Steffon even if it was senseless and just muted ramblings. The last fleeting days of the high summer were upon them and Sansa had chosen the loveliest dress that she had.

Made of grey and gold samite, Sansa shimmered as she moved into the Godswood, her Tully blue eyes searching for her beloved. She picked her way delicately through the grass, Lady following close behind her as she went to find their usual spot in the far corner, not near the heart tree. She placed her hand against a nearby tree, her heart brimming with sadness as she thought about how Steffon would be riding away, abandoning her to remain in Winterfell.

_Keep it together Sansa, you don't need your prince seeing you cry, _she thought, trying to gather her emotions before Steffon appeared. A few minutes passed after their expected meeting time and her nerves began fraying, her neatly collected emotions beginning to spill out. Just when she thought that he was never going to come, a soft crunching of leaves and pine needles scattering across the undergrowth. When she turned round she saw her gallant prince stepping from out of the shadows. The thought didn't even cross her mind of the ordeal a few days ago with her brother. It had all just been a mistake, nothing had truly been clear since they were moving so quickly.

Ever radiant with his obsidian hair and lightning blue eyes he was dressed in emerald brocade, the doublet printed with golden crowned stags. This was his goodbye and he had chosen the best outfit he had packed with him, as she had not seen him in this ensemble yet.

Sorrow consumed her when she saw him in his send off outfit and she could feel the tears beginning to leak out as she held his striking gaze. There had been things Sansa had wanted in life, but never had she thought her feelings could get the better of her as they were now.

Steffon reached forward and took her hand, offering a kind smile that warmed the cockles of her heart. Pressing his lips to her gentle fingers, he glanced up at her. "Don't worry my beloved. I have plans to get you to King's Landing where you can become my queen," he promised, holding her hands in his.

"Plans? My father isn't going south and nor am I. Perhaps if he was accepting the honor of Hand of the King," she had been flabbergasted at the news that he had passed up such an honor. To have the power to influence the kingdom and live in the lovely capitol... Sansa was astounded how he could throw it all away and resign himself to remain at Winterfell. He was a sentimental fool. One that she could not forgive. He'd allowed her to weep herself to sleep, to feel as if death would be better than existing without Steffon who had been nothing but kind and loving toward her. It was meant to be and her father was too daft and blind to see it.

"Yes, an honor which my father traveled all the way north to try and bestow upon him," Steffon let out a deep sigh, the lines of trouble clear on his face. "I thought that my uncle would leap at the chance of getting offering such a prestigious role, but I was sorely mistaken. I am glad this journey was not completely pointless."

When he looked back at her, she felt her heart flutter rapidly like a baby bird trying to take flight for the first time. "Me too," she whispered, holding his hands close to her as they stood in the Godswood. "I despair each day that we shall be apart. That they keep us apart," she felt heat rise in her chest and reach up to burn her ears and face.

Steffon chuckled, brushing back some of her hair with his calloused hands. "Not for long, my beloved. I told you, I have made arrangements for you to come south."

"How? When?" Sansa didn't know how it would be possible to smuggle her south without her father catching wind of it. Could she run away from Winterfell? Certainly, she loved the prince and he loved her back. She only feared what wrath might follow her like the impending winter that loomed in the distance. She knew what her mother meant when she said that love was blind. Sansa would do anything to be reunited with him, even if that meant crossing her father. Eventually, he would understand once she became queen and she would forgive him.

"I cannot spare all the details, but as the pieces fall into place... Someone will take you by sea to King's Landing and it is someone known to you. Do not balk when the time comes, I promise that they will deliver you safely," Steffon insisted, reaching down to kiss her softly on the lips. "Then, when you arrive, I shall make you my queen."

Her head spun and she felt a bit faint. Everything had been arranged and she would be... But his father? King Robert was in good health and even if they married, she would still just be a princess. She tried not to overthink it and his words, seeing that he'd promised her multiple times that she would be a queen. It was all just a promise, not anything to put any serious thought in. Steffon wouldn't do anything to his father, he was fair and kind and just. But her memory flashed back to when he'd tried to break Robb's nose and a shiver passed over her skin, hair raising on top of gooseflesh.

"What is it?" Steffon touched her face and Sansa leaned into his caress banishing the negative thoughts that had started to form doubt in her.

"Nothing my love, I was just thinking about our future together. It won't be too long before I follow you, right?" she implored sweetly.

"Of course not, I made a promise to you, did I not?" in spite of his soft words, there was a glint of annoyance in his eyes, as if he detested having to repeating himself or justify his answers. He was a prince, everyone should just trust his word.

"Yes, how silly of me," Sansa muttered demurely.

"Don't look so sad, we'll be together again before you know it," Steffon tilted her chin back up to gaze deeply into her eyes, reducing her to little more than a simpering puddle. 'They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder."

With a lilting breath she nodded before he released her chin. "I wish we could stay here forever."

"Nothing is forever... We should go before anyone notices we are missing. I am to leave soon," Steffon suggested, the excitement in her heart fleeing. He chuckled lightly and bent forward for their final kiss. Sansa's emotions overwhelmed her as she pressed herself against his strong lean chest and wished that the world wasn't so cruel as to keep lovers apart. He held her up as they made their exchange and he finally released, leaving her breathless and wishing for more.

Soon, she reminded herself as she smoothed her skirts and tried to hold her head high despite the turmoil of emotions that were gnawing at her like a mouse at cheese. "We shouldn't be seen together," Sansa noted duly and Steffon nodded.

"Yes, you go ahead and I'll follow in a few minutes. I still have a few places I need to go before leaving," Steffon told her, puzzling Sansa. Where else would he need to go? Were there more people he had to say goodbye to? More arrangements that had to be made? She tried not to dwell on it too much, giving him a doleful smile before she hiked up her skirts slightly and climbed out of the alcolve they had met in. All she had to do was wait until Steffon's plans were in place and she'd be going south to become a queen.

_Jeyne_

Finally they were leaving. Jeyne could not have been more ecstatic to finally see the accursed royal family leave Winterfell and more importantly, her. Even if Steffon was the only one who was truly terrible from the family, the others rallied around him in spite of his actions and disposition. Willful ignorance. King Robert would never admit to the fact that his son took whatever he wanted, even if that was from a high borne lady. Being a prince did not make him untouchable and when her father had been alive, he made that clear to him. She was safe in Winterfell from his advances or touch and she was glad for it, even if Catelyn Stark was a bit hesitant to put her entire faith in her just yet. Among one of the more clever people in Winterfell, if she said so herself.

Jeyne chose brocade gown of blue and silver to wish the royal party well off. The thick printed fabric clung to her chest and waist and fell in a thick skirt to keep her warm, not requiring much more than a scarf in the brisk summer air as she went for a solo walk through Winterfell, smiling smugly to herself. She liked to do this every other day, enjoying the sites, wondering if she would notice something new. Even if the stones remained the same, the people who tended them were always on a new task. The army of servants were very loyal and inclined toward their jobs, bidding her politely as she passed and scurrying around to make certain they performed at mach speed. She had met Gage the cook a few times now, a portly man that had mistaken her for a servant when she was working in the Glass Gardens. He had apologized profusely on numerous occasions and Jeyne was able to give him some advise on fertilizing some of the southern variants of vegetation he was growing.

Gage was taken aback like many of the men that she was a walking encyclopedia for various topics to include herbology, farming, healing arts, and ailments. She thought they were all rather pertinent to each other, but supposed there were few ladies so familiar with such scholarly pursuits. Her father had never tried to put an end to her inquiries and she had spent the majority of her time in King's Landing reading. Even if they were not fairy tales or stories of The Age of Heroes, she loved to look at the pictures of flora and discover ways she could help other people. After the death of her mother and Robyn's illness, she had been foolish enough to believe that Lysa might let her help make him better. The sharp memory of Lysa slapping the draught she had made for her infant brother from her hand, sending it to the ground where it shattered, made her wince. Maester Colemon had gone over the recipe with her and didn't think it would do Robyn any harm. She had been eleven when Lysa proved again that she didn't trust Jeyne.

The words she had given Catelyn, though the harsh truth, had been honest. Jeyne had been eager to impress her step-mother when she was a girl. Lysa wasn't as pretty as Catelyn and there was no doubt now that Lysa would have been thought to be the elder one from how the years had worn her. Before Lysa got pregnant for the first time, she had been a nervous, but kind young lady. Hope had blossomed in Jeyne, wondering if she would learn everything from Lysa on how to be a lady and if she would become like a true mother. Such an idea was dashed after her stillborn, especially when Jeyne had inquired what had happened to her sibling. That could have been the worst thing she could do. Lysa had broken down into a fit of hysterics, the beginning of many to come, and pointed as finger at her demanding to know why she was such a cruel child come to shove it in her face that the boy had died. After that day, Lysa was changed, regressing further as she lost even more babes. Did Lysa believe that Jeyne wanted the Vale for herself? Was that why she kept Robyn away from her?

These were all questions that Jeyne dwelled upon often. Her father had been her light and guardian angel and now he was gone. Jeyne was not the little bookworm he had sent to the Vale when she was fourteen. She had matured rapidly, perhaps too rapidly.

"Did you wear that dress for me?"

_Of course he wouldn't just leave quietly,_ she thought, whirling around to see the haughty prince striding toward her. Jeyne's blonde hair fluffed up around her like feathers on a bird and she clenched her fists, which were hidden beneath her long dagged sleeves.

"I wore it for myself," she retorted crisply, her eyes desperately seeking the nearest soul that might be able to be a witness. She was near the Broken Tower, an area that was rarely utilized aside from the Lich Yard where loyal servants were buried. The path she had chosen was near the trees that framed the graves and not the most direct path to the Glass Gardens. How long had he looked for her? She hadn't told anyone where she was going.

"Is that how you address your prince? I shall be leaving today, I expected you to be a bit more crestfallen in light of our separation," with each step toward her, Jeyne backed away slowly.

"Our separation?" her voice hitched in disbelief. _Is he really that deluded?_ she wondered silently, her eyes burning as if she were an Other. Ser Andar had been the only reason he had not gotten close to her on their journey north and he was now sitting counsel with Eddard Stark as a Royce. She didn't think that in the shadowy corners of Winterfell she had anything to fear. How foolish she had been.

He backed her right into one of the enormous oak trees, overstepping her by more than a head. "Yes, when your accursed father sent you away and then Ser Andar Royce kept me away. You've always been shy toward my advances, especially seeing that my bruttish cousin has been at your heels like a puppy. It's not too late to decide that you'll come with us."

Jeyne was perplexed by how he thought she fancied him in any sort of a way. Her distance had not been because of her father, or Ser Andar, or even the Starks. She wore her hatred as a cold mask on her face nearly all the time and yet he had the audacity to speak ill of her father and trusted knight in front of her? "Shy? I have not been shy, merely a cold courtesy. I have no interest in going south, especially not when you insult my father to my face," Jeyne snapped angrily.

Her fury was swiftly overshadowed by Steffon's. "Why do you say such heartless things? Has Robb threatened you? Where is Ser Andar? I have seen little of him since our arrival," he leaned forward, crossing into her personal space. Gritting her teeth her fingers scrabbled against the bark of the tree as she tried to circle around it, but was cut off as he planted an arm in her way. "Tell me my pretty song bird-"

"I am not yours! I never have been!" Jeyne seethed. "Women are not yours to take as you please. Now please let me go, I have somewhere to be." Where she had to be she had no excuse currently, but her mind was turning rapidly as she tried to conjure a suitable response. She went to move to the other side, but Steffon grasped her forearm in an iron grip, catching her yet again. Only this time she did not have Greywind with her.

"Going to run back to the Young Wolf?" he sneered, dropping the pleasant demeanor he had been trying to implore her with. "He's not good enough for you. I'm a prince, I am better than any man that could possibly want you. You would choose Winterfell over King's Landing?"

She winced, her arm burning from where he clamped onto her forearm, his fingers digging through her sleeve. Despite the pain she leveled her sky blue eyes defiantly at him. "_Every. Time_," she snarled.

Steffon's eyes flashed and he slammed her hard against the tree, taking her by the throat as he held her like she was little more than a child. Jeyne gasped for air as he pulled her off her feet, head spinning from the impact against the tree. "Why do you treat me like this? I've loved you since you came to King's Landing and you've done nothing but spat on my affections. As High As Honor. Too high for me? A prince?"

Jeyne tried to speak, but only dry air crackled out of her mouth. Was this how is was going to end? She was going to join her father so shortly after his own death? She always knew that Steffon was going to make her life a miserable existence as long as she was in close proximity to him. But as her vision began fading she was dropped to the ground and she began gasping for air like a fish floundering on land.

"You'll change your mind," Steffon told her before she heard his footsteps recede.

Jeyne remained on the ground, her back, arm, and throat all scorching with pain as she tried to steady her hair and regain her composure. She really had thought he was going to kill her. Swiftly, she wiped the tears from her face and tried to relax, but she couldn't stop her hands and body from shaking uncontrollably. Finally, she climbed back to her feet and glanced around, hoping that she wouldn't cross paths with anyone while in this deplorable state. If she could skirt her way back to the Guest House and then up to the chambers she had been allowed...

"Lady Jeyne?" she froze mid step at Catelyn's voice, still quaking from the exchange. Catelyn had been coming from the Glass Gardens with a basket full of freshly harvested flowers. Perhaps she had intended on making gifts for the princess before she departed. "Are you-" she was coming up on Jeyne now and gasped when she saw her face. "What in heaven's name happened to you? Tell me if wasn't one of our men and if it was-"

"It wasn't," Jeyne interrupted miserably. She realized what Catelyn saw. A young woman with her hair falling out of its braid, her dress rumpled and grass stained, and her face flushed and damp from tears.

Catelyn grasped her by the shoulders and surveyed her. Her fingers slid past the scarf she was wearing, causing her to flinch from how cold they were. "You're bruising. Who did this? Jeyne-"

"Even if I tell you who, it doesn't matter," Jeyne replied woefully. "No witnesses, no-"

"It was the prince, wasn't it?" Catelyn inquired perceptively, her Tully blue eyes sharp and penetrating.

Jeyne felt herself crumbling, still shaking slightly from the exchange. As High As Honor. She always tried to be so strong, but she'd never tempted Steffon to choking her before. What had happened in those years she was in the Vale? Her headstrong resolve began cracking and her lip trembled, unable to do much more than nod at Catelyn as her eyes began filling with tears.

Catelyn grabbed her in a tight embrace and held her as the gate to her tears became unhinged. What would life be like if Catelyn had been her step mother instead of Lysa? Would she have dissolved into what Lysa was now? It didn't matter, Jeyne was glad that Catelyn had found her and not another man. When Jeyne finally managed to get ahold of herself, Catelyn gazed at her again and wiped her face with her own sleeve.

"Come," she adjusted the scarf so that it covered Jeyne's neck and led her through the yard, keeping her by her arm. Catelyn knew the little crannies and hidden paths behind the buildings and used the servants' entrance to the Guest House. Delivering Jeyne to her room, she sat her down in a chair and drew up a copper water basin with fresh spring water, dampening a rag in it. Jeyne fumbled her fingers through her hair, taking the askew braids out and letting it fall around her. "Stay in here, I'll tell them that you're ill for the departure of the royal family," Catelyn said, bending down in front of her to take the hot rag and wipe Jeyne's face like she was a child.

Jeyne tolerated it, unable to recall the last time someone had tended to her like this. She had always been preferential in having few servants and no handmaidens. There had never been a strong woman figure in her life, Queen Lyanna had been distant the majority of the time and only around when they went north to Winterfell. She had her own children to worry about to have added the Arryn to the lot.

She hissed in pain when Catelyn brought the scarf away and tapped the cloth against her throat where she had been bruised. Observing the Tully, she saw the lines of worry creased into her beautiful face, but there was no pity. Jeyne didn't need pity, she just needed help.

"Is there anywhere else that you were hurt?" Catelyn glanced down at her, as if hinting at a more sinister attack.

"Perhaps my arm, but that is all," she rolled down the sleeve, her arm screaming in pain as she did and she knew why. Her skin was already a dark violent purple, the top layer scraped back from where fingernails had dug in, bleeding slightly where the flesh was exposed.

"Oh Jeyne," Catelyn sighed, not taking the water to this part of her arm.

Jeyne's clear eyes stared with morbid intrigue at her arm. "It'll need to be cleaned and wrapped, a salve applied. I can give you a list," she turned her head back up to Catelyn and saw her astonishment, her hand placed on her mouth with her eyes looking wet.

"Has he done this to you before?" Catelyn pressed for more information. "No wonder your father wanted you here. He was sending you away from my sister _and _the little monster, wasn't he?"

The mention of her father made her lip quiver again and all Jeyne could manage was a slow nod before she placed her eyes at her feet, turning to burn a hole into the floor from the heat of her glare. Above all else, Jeyne hated feeling weak, but this had shaken her up. It was so easy to believe you were untouchable and then another to have that idea shook to its very foundation.

Catelyn pulled up a chair beside her, bringing parchment and a quill with her so that Jeyne could give her a list. "What happened… when you were fourteen? That's when you were sent back to the Vale, wasn't it?"

Jeyne closed her eyes fighting back the memories she had worked hard to forget. She expelled a shaky breath and shook her head. "The Hill Tribes are not the only reason I picked my bow back up. They say… it's unbecoming of a lady to wield weapons and I wasn't allowed to go near one when we moved to King's Landing. I think it's a shame that a lady should have to fear her own shadow in a castle. He did something similar… he's a couple years younger than me and I never took his affections seriously. I thought of him like an annoying little brother, but he outgrew me after he passed ten name days. I'm not the tallest lady and my build is also quite petite, I was even smaller then than I am now.

"At fourteen I was already receiving keen interest from suitors. Steffon wasn't very happy about that, even though my father had no intention of marrying me just yet. He didn't trust most of the intentions of the southern men, but he never saw the one right next to me as a threat. I went riding with him and he got it into his head that he would propose to me. He was just twelve and I thought… I thought it was endearing and laughed. He tried to.. Uh…" she trailed off, unable to explain what had happened as she remembered him shoving her to the ground, the reins of her horse spilling from her hand as she fell. Her head came down hard over a root and she was stunned, world spinning for a few moments. By then, he was on top of her, pushing the skirts of her dress up. She'd screamed, screamed as loud as she could until the knights that had been accompanying them came round the bend and broke them up.

The knights had thought little of it, nothing more than a little scuttle. Steffon had said he was trying to help her, that she had fallen from her horse and he was checking for injuries. Jeyne knew what he was going to do and managed to tell her father. The little boy she once knew, the one that had adored her was turning into a ravenous man that would simply take what he wanted. Jon had not stood for it and challenged the king, only for Robert to take the side of his son that insisted that Jeyne had fallen. In response, Jon sent her away.

"But he's never hurt me like this…" she also had not had a true exchange with him since her childhood. Now he was much larger and stronger than her, which was obvious from how he had torn up her arm just holding it. How could such a kind boy turn into this monster? She missed the Steffon she once knew, but the little boy was gone and he had made a promise the day that he'd tried to rape her; '_You'll be mine one day, no one else can have you. I'll kill them.'_

Catelyn hushed her and tucked some of her loose hair behind her ear. "And he won't do it again. You are in our care… _My _care now."

"Thank you, that means a lot to me," Jeyne muttered, still feeling ashamed of how she must have appeared. "Please… Please don't tell Robb."

"You'll have to hide your neck. Do you have some high collared gowns?" she tilted Jeyne's neck up to inspect the welts.

"Yes, I've got some from of my warmer dresses that are high collared," Jeyne informed her.

"Your arm will be easy enough to cover. I will not tell Robb, but I suggest you tell him yourself," Catelyn said, placing her hand on top of Jeyne's.

Jeyne was fond of Robb, but they were still to early in their friendship for her to burden him with such knowledge. Catelyn was a woman, she could understand in a different manner than Robb. He could already sense the tension between her and Steffon, he didn't need to know just yet. She didn't need yet another person fussing over her. Even then, it felt wrong not to tell him. Maybe Catelyn was right.

'_If my cousin bothers you again, let me or Theon know,' _he had told her.

"I will… contemplate it," she conceded, hoping that she could get some time to herself while Catelyn went to retrieve the supplies for her arm.

_Eddard_

The attacks harrying the southwestern shores of the north were growing bolder. He had been trying to keep this information out of wraps while Robert was still in Winterfell, but there were other issues he had to face. Sansa had been insistent on going south with her cousins, to the point that it made him suspicious. She had been spending a good deal of time with Steffon and he wondered what the young man might have been telling her. Robb had already expressed his disdain for Steffon in tandem with the fact that the prince then tried to break his nose. Eddard wasn't so foolish to believe that it had simply been sparring between the two boys, especially after he'd heard Arya and Theon's accounts on what had happened.

Once they were gone, Winterfell would slip back into its typical routine aside from the swords he was going to have to raise swords to support his vassals. Ships would have to be prepared and an envoy would need to be sent to Pyke. He had to keep it quiet, if Theon caught wind that he was going to possible start war with the Ironborn before he might have no choice but to confine him to his room or even a cell. Now that Balon had attested that harming northerners was more important than his son, Eddard would just have to keep him. The less Theon knew, the more complacent he would be.

Ned paused, straightening his leather jerkin and cloak before he intended to head down to the courtyard near the eastern gate. The door slammed behind him and Catelyn whirled in like a dervish, her auburn hair flaring behind her like fire as she set her river blue eyes on him. He knew this look, the look of his wife when the children had crossed her… Or at least, he thought that until realizing it was much more than that.

He caught his wife by her elbow. "What is it Cat?"

"_What is it?_" Catelyn snarled, her fury boiling over. "That wretched nephew of yours. I knew, I _knew _when he broke Robb's nose that wasn't the end of it."

"What are you going on about? Cat what has Steffon done?" a sense of dread filled him up.

"I found Jeyne roughed up by the Broken Tower. I didn't think anything could rattle that one, but she broke down into tears because he attacked her. He had some sick obsession with the Arryn girl. That's why Jon sent her away and why he requested she be put in your care. To get her away from that little…" Catelyn broke off into an angry hiss.

_And Robert kept imploring to send Jeyne with him. Is he aware of his son's tendencies? _"What did he do to her?" he asked quietly.

"She won't divulge too many details, but it looks like he choked her. The welts on her neck and then her arm…" Catelyn collapsed in the chair by the hearth which had died down to smoldering embers. Burying her fingers in her hair, Cat let out a low sigh. She'd tried to put up a tough front for the girl, especially since she was a prospective bride for Robb, but he could see this had hit her hard. Women were not always treated fairly and to think that the prince would dare to put hands on anyone in Winterfell tested Ned's patience, especially after he had let the ordeal with Robb slip by.

"How is Robb handling this?"

Catelyn pursed her lips and shook her head. "Jeyne requested that I don't tell him. He _should _know, he's very fond of her already, but I shall not go against her wishes. Not with everything she's been through today."

Ned nodded slowly, he also preferred that Robb knew, but he also knew that his son's patience would be tested and it would not be wise to do so while the royal party was still there. Even if Robb was perceptive, he was still an impulsive young man and would likely demand justice that Jeyne did not want. "I assume she's not going to send them off?"

"No, she's resigned to her room. I had Lewin make her some dream wine…" Catelyn informed him.

Ned exhaled deeply with the news, yet another piece of stress to add. He was glad that he had declined Robert, he had a feeling there had been more layers to Jon's will than it originally revealed. He had promised to protect the girl, but he had never assumed that it because of his own nephew. At least the issue of her protection would vanish once Robert was gone. Still, none of this was sitting quite well with him. Sansa was belligerent and Robert furious that he had not taken the coveted position. He had too much going on ignore it and go south. His people needed him in Winterfell and he intended on remaining there. Too many Starks had died in King's Landing within the past couple of decades.

"Well… Even if Lady Jeyne will not be attending the send off, our appearance will be required," Ned reminded her, helping her back to her feet.

Catelyn obviously did not want to entertain them, but nodded slowly and smoothed her skirts. "I'll try not to make my disdain obvious," she pushed her thick hair back and glanced up at him.

"With a scowl like that you'll fool everyone," Ned informed her, pressing his lips to her forehead. Taking her by her arm, he escorted her out of their chambers and toward the courtyard. After leaving the warmth of the Great Keep, he felt the briskness of the afternoon bring him to a sharp clarity. The words his wife shared with him weighed heavy on his shoulders as they made their way to meet their children.

The spectacular wheelhouses had been pulled back out, the horses lined in a row, and the Kingsguard preparing themselves for the royal family's arrival, the horses of Robert and Edric waiting patiently without their riders. Robb had corralled the rest of his siblings in a line, but gave his parents a curious look as they approached, posing the unspoken question. He still had a bit of wrapping on his nose, but the Arryn had done a good job at making certain he was in order.

Catelyn parted from Ned to flock to her son, muttering softly. "She's feeling ill, perhaps you should visit her come the morning."

Ned focused his attention on his eldest daughter whose face was remarkably pale and her hands were clutched tightly in front of her. "Sansa…" he entreated, hoping that she would understand. Had Steffon done anything to her? If he could shake Jeyne's resolve, he doubted that Sansa would have stood much of a chance.

"Father," she chirped, barely putting her eyes on him.

"You'll understand one day," he murmured, placing a kiss on top of her rich hair. Was it terrible of him to be happy that this hadn't happened to Sansa? He didn't think she'd be able to rebound from such a breaking of trust.

Before much more could happen, the royal family came waltzing into view. The Starks took their positions to receive them and Ned expected the cold shoulder. Robert would have few choices for his Hand now that Ned had declined and he wore his dismay plain on his face.

"Ned," Robert grumbled, towering over him imposingly. Dark circles were wrung around the king's eyes, as if he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep his entire stay.

"You grace," he responded evenly, waiting to see what Robert would do.

Robert simply turned and began his goodbyes to the children and wife, which were gruff, but considerably more warm than the exchange he'd given Ned. He was paying more attention to the king that he had barely noticed his eldest nephew was standing in front of him, waiting for the Stark to say something. Ned's grey eyes flickered to rest on the young man for a few moments, his stomach turning in disgust as he smirked down at him. There was no shred of remorse on his face, no inkling that he'd preyed upon the Arryn girl. This was a boy who should not become king, but Eddard could only hope that his life would end before he was given the chance.

"Uncle," Steffon's lips curled up devilishly, bright eyes soulless and cold.

"Travel safely," Ned bid through grit teeth.

"Brighten up uncle," he mused arrogantly before he moved as if he were going to continue down the line. He paused and pointed a finger for a moment. "Ah, I almost forgot," he muttered before taking a step forward, past the invisible threshold to grab Ned in an embrace. But this was not a hug between family members, it was just concocted to look so. "Take good care of Lady Jeyne for me. I'll be wanting her back after she's done grieving for her father."

Ned remained as still as a statue, appalled by the gall of the prince. Steffon stepped away, considerably more smug as he continued down the line with Ned glowering at him. He would never send any woman south again, his intuition had been spot on. He wondered if Lyanna was watching, seeing what her son had turned into. Had she tried to rein him in? Or had been too much to handle? For certain, he knew that she was rolling in her grave if she had witnessed what had happened on the grounds of Winterfell by her son's hand.


	6. Chapter 6

_Robb_

He couldn't have been more pleased that the royal family had finally left. A shadow had fallen over Winterfell in the time that they had been there and he was glad that they had gone and… Well, he would have thought he'd be seeing a lot more of Lady Jeyne, but she'd been ill in her chambers for nearly a week. He'd respected the request for no visitors, but with each passing day he felt as if he were being pulled toward her door. Finally, he was outside of it despite the fact that he knew it probably wasn't among his best ideas.

His hand froze just before knocking, reconsidering his decision. Greywind decided for him, letting out a long a baleful yowl before pawing at the door with his claws. Robb withdrew his hand suddenly as if it had been lit on fire. The door cracked open and the pale shadow of Lady Jeyne was standing in the frame. Before she could stop him, Greywind had already slipped through the door and into her chambers. This was the second time Robb had caught her in a less than suitable predicament. She was in a thin chemise, a silken scarf around her slender shoulders and her light blonde hair down for the first time.

"Oh, I thought you were-" her head turned to trail after ghost and she hastily reached up to pull her scarf closer to her neck. Robb caught sight of what she was trying to hide before hand, the fading purple and yellow marks against her throat. Her chemise sleeve billowed down and revealed a bandage around her arm. "Uh, Greywind. Greywind please," she left the door ajar as she tried to corral the wolf back to the door.

An injured arm and throat? Was that why she had been avoiding coming out of her room? It would be difficult to hide the marks on her pale milky throat. "How did that happen?" he stepped past the threshold of the door and into her chambers. Despite how many days she had spent in her room, it was absolutely immaculate, as if no one had been living in there at all. The bed was neatly arranged, the chair on a particular angle with the fireplace, the desk without a piece out of place.

Jeyne had bent down to touch Greywind, the direwolf turning his massive head up to lick her cheek. Robb's heart fluttered as she turned her head up toward him, her pale tendrils of hair falling out of her soft face. Not as neatly collected as he was accustomed to, Robb found that the Arryn was particularly striking when she had the mask put aside.

"I was going to tell you," she began, burying her fingers in Greywind's fur. "Once I was healed."

"Why not before?" he got down beside her to look at the markings. This was not an accident, he could see the welts where fingers had curled against her throat. Heat rose in his chest, a deep bitter anger than someone had dared to hurt her. How could anyone lay a hand on a lady?

"I didn't want you to be worried," she offered lamely.

"Be worried? I was worried when you didn't leave your chambers for a week, that's why I'm here my lady," Robb told her.

Jeyne cocked a cynical look at him. "Still the formalities even though you've entered my chambers with me less than decent," she mused, standing up and pushing her hair aside.

Robb felt his cheeks burn at the note, realizing that she was correct. He'd stepped into Jeyne's room without thinking much of what it might look like. "You still haven't answered my original question… Jeyne."

"That's more like it," she smiled before sitting on the edge of her bed, reaching up and touching her throat the whimsical expression faded and there was a forlorn one. "I…" she paused unable to speak further as her fingers slid down her skin and into her lap. Her hand clenched into a fist, knuckles whitening before she exhaled a furious breath. "I needed the time to collect myself."

Robb had rarely ever seen her as anything more than collected and as consummately groomed at her room. She was darting around the answer, unwilling to fold before him. He admired the trait, trying to be strong in the face of adversity, but how deeply she had been wounded went deeper than skin. She had confined herself, willingly locked herself in a cage so she didn't have to explain herself. Falcons were not meant to be caged. By the way her arm was bandaged, someone had to have known what happened. His mind slipped back to his mother and realized that the woman probably knew. She had not shared any information with him and perhaps that had been wise, despite how much Robb yearned to know what truly conspired. Jeyne had to tell him herself.

"Can we go riding?" she asked him abruptly, her pale eyes focusing on him.

"Perhaps we can make an arrangement," Robb proposed, releasing Greywind from his grasp and standing up. The direwolf padded over to Jeyne, placing his head on her knee. He averted his eyes to preserve her modesty, the chemise only fell so low and when she sat it revealed her calves and bare feet.

"Arrangement?" Jeyne mused lightly.

"In exchange for taking you riding, I wish to know what happened to you a week ago," Robb offered, wondering if it had been too bold of a request. She could easily decline and that would be the end of it. She was quiet for a moment, drawing his eyes back to see what she was doing.

Fierce eyes met his and he was taken aback by the hot blue fire that burned in them like she had been challenged to a duel. "I agree," she said finally, easing Greywind's head off her leg. Even if she was a petite woman, when she held her chin stern and set her eyes, she held an air of regality that outstripped her stature. "Now if you could please step out so I can get prepared..."

Robb breathed a laugh and nodded, motioning for Greywind to follow him out into the hall. Now that the Guest House was vacant of the royal party, there were fewer souls milling around that might have espied him entering an unmarried lady's chambers. Exhaling a small breath, Robb leaned against the wall and waited, wondering if he should change. He'd chosen to wear the leathers and linens of his typical ensemble, a fur trimmed cloak, all of which were muted blacks and dark browns.

Lady Jeyne did not take too long, much less time than he'd once spent waiting for Sansa to get prepared. Unlike her typical sky blue gowns, she'd chosen a navy blue cotton dress that was bustled at the waist with a brown leather cincher. The skirt opened in the front by a slid to allow for comfortable riding without the skirt coming up. With each step, leather trousers revealed themselves tight against her legs, tucked into a pair of high riding boots. Jeyne had her bow and quiver slung over her shoulder, leather vambraces that were inscribed with the flying falcon of House Arryn, along with archery gloves with the first three fingertips of her dominant hand vacant of fabric to better grasp fletchings.

Her hair had a few braids knitted away from her face before being twisted up into a high ponytail that spilled down her back like a pale waterfall. Her lashes flickered and she caught Robb staring, as he'd never seen such an ensemble before. "My lord," she greeted mockingly with a mischievous smirk, stepping past him and toward the stairs. Greywind followed her immediately, making Robb frown at his direwolf's affection for her. Then again, Greywind could have hated her and that would have been another issue on its own.

Her neck was hidden by the high black fur collar of her gown and her arm tied beneath a vambrace. This was not a Jeyne he had seen yet, but he had heard of the stories how she had reigned in the wildling Hilld Tribes. He assumed she hadn't done it dress meant for court or castles. If Arya caught sight of her, he knew that she'd demand the same outfit and a bow just as stellar.

"Are you expecting the ride to be dangerous?" Robb asked her as they stepped out into the yard, taking a hard right for the stables.

"Can never be too prepared," she shrugged.

The stables smelled as they always did. Of stale hay, leather from the tacts that were hung, and the muck at the bottom of stalls that had yet to be cleaned. Jeyne ambitiously went for her staddle, hefting it up and over her shoulder before she staggered toward the stall that held her palomino. Robb watched for a few amused moments, watching as she struggled to open the door to the stall.

Robb approached and lifted the saddle of her shoulder, met with a cold look, though it probably weighed half of what she did. She didn't say anything, sliding the door open to that palomino that cantered forward to meet them. Tossing his white mane he shoved his nose into her chest, insisting on being pet. His golden coat rippled beautifully, glinting in the light as Robb came round to saddle him.

"Thank you," Jeyne relinquished finally, adjusting the straps to her horse before she tied her quiver down and slid her bow into the holster on the saddle. "Alester," she guided the bit into his mouth and stepped up confidently onto the stirrup, tossing her leg over and getting comfortable in her seat before edging him forward. "I'll wait outside for you."

Jeyne led Alester out of the stables and left Robb to go saddle his shire gelding. Not as lean and lithe at the palomino, but a huge bay draught destrier of which there were few horses of similar girth and size. Horses in the north had to be sturdy and whle many of the horses were draught horses, the shires were among the largest. Most preferred the smaller ones, seeing that they could be more agile, but Robb liked how Dorren did not balk or spook. The beast was sure footed and resilient, able to go longer than any of the slight horses. He wasn't particularly fast, but it would take more than a sword to bring Dorren down.

Greywind gave the horse a weary glance, but the gelding didn't mind him, in fact Dorren ignored him completely. Swishing his black tail irritably before Robb finished securing the equipment on him. He adjusted his sword before he stepped into teh stirrup and swung his leg up, settling into the saddle before he nudging Dorren toward the exit.

Arya was already there, petting Alester the palomino on the nose, who was eager to have some attention. "He has a beautiful coat," Arya noted as he pushed his white nose into her face and lipped some of her dark hair.

"Thank you, perhaps later I'll meet you in the yard for practice?" Jeyne suggested, Arya taking notice that Robb was coming up behind her.

He gave his sister a stern look, challenging her to ask to ride with them. Arya got the hint, a devious smile unfurling across her face as she nodded eagerly. "I'd like that. Better go to my lesson before I'm late again," she muttered darkly before waving to them and bumbling through the yard in her skirt that had been dragged through the dirt.

"She didn't give you any trouble, did she?" Robb asked, watching as his sister disappeared into the distance, turning a corner sharply and nearly falling as she tripped on her skirt.

"Arya?" Jeyne seemed taken aback. "Of course not. She's a good girl."

Robb scoffed at her. "Your definition of good is quite skewed, my lady."

Jeyne leveled a cynical expression at him. "My definition of good doesn't just apply to those who follow the rules. She's a bit wild, but she's honest, which is a trait that few are willing to betray. I put little faith behind gilded words and pretty smiles, sometimes those who seem demure are the most dangerous."

He'd never met a demure woman that had given him any reason to be weary. Jeyne feigned being coy at times, but it was a mocking interpretation, she was not shy or soft spoken. Quite the opposite actually. Perhaps that was what drew him toward her, her articulate and concise demeanor, her intelligence and courtesy, and even the games she played when no one else was looking. None of the other ladies he'd met were so bold without being unrefined.

Smiling at the look he gave her, he guided Dorren forward. "Where did you wish to ride today, my lady?" another surly glance widened his grin.

"The wolfswood perhaps?" Jeyne suggested bringing Alester beside him.

Robb nodded and led the way to the hunter's gate behind the kennels that led directly toward the wolfswood. There was a larger gate that popped out a little bit southern of the wood, but he saw no harm in bringing her through the tunnel and out past the walls of Winterfell. Gates were raised and they trotted out into the grassy moors that surrounded the garrison. The trees had all been cleared around Winterfell's circumference, tall grass growing over the lolling hills. The dark trees spanned in the horizon about a couple miles off.

Jeyne glanced back at him and with a devilish smile she dug her heels into her palomino and raced toward the trees. Greywind sailed after her and Robb was the laggard, pressing close to Dorren's neck as he tried to usher his shire horse forward. As expected, Jeyne's spry horse sailed ahead of him like a golden bolt, her hair whipping behind her as she bunched her legs and leaned in to divert him slightly toward the wolfswood. He had suspected she was a good rider, but he hadn't the chance to witness it. He'd yet to witness any lady ride with such haste and Jeyne kept her seat with ease.

Robb was the one who was jostled by Dorren's galloping over the uneven hills of the moors. She and Greywind pressed ahead significantly and made it to the edge of the forest well before he did. When he arrived he slowed Dorren to see that Alester was pacing the edge with Jeyne stretching her shoulders on his back. The palomino's chest heaved from the effort, but the creature's eyes glinted with excitement, having not been ridden for a couple of weeks.

It would have been a perfect day if not for the overcast sky, which was typical around Winterfell. The autumn rains would be rapidly approaching, the last fleeting shreds of summer leaving them. In their path were the thick trunks of hawthorn and ironwood trees, a few black brier and soldier pines dotting themselves among the edge.

Robb nodded to the main game trail that was wide enough for two horses. Greywind took point, padding at the head as they flanked each other. Robb had always loved the wolfswood, even if the nights were filled with the ceaseless howling of the native wolves. Some found it to be chilling and disconcerting, but he thought it was familiar. Much of the wolfswood was still made up of rolling hills, inclines, twisted roots, and stones half buried in the dirt. When he had gone riding with the King Robert, he'd thought that he was going to break his horse's leg. Horses that were unfamiliar with the terrain were prone to such accidents.

Alester moved around deftly and Robb realized that the horse typically had to deal with the precarious rocks of the mountains in the Vale.

"So," Robb began, glancing over at her neck. "What happened?"

Jeyne kept her eyes forward, fingers tightening on her reins as she exhaled a bitter breath. "You know how I am not too keen of the crown prince, correct?" she began, Robb feeling his own fingers flex at what she was playing at. He didn't interrupt her, but he felt rage boil in his stomach. If Steffon wanted a fight, he could give it to Robb, but Jeyne hadn't deserved to be hurt. "I was on a walk the day the the royal family was due to depart. Steffon found me and I tempted his anger. The infamous Baratheon fury," she muttered, unable to look at him. "His behavior became obsessive when we were children, right before I was sent back to the Eyrie. I don't know if he's delusional or mad, but he actually believes I have some sort of feelings for him. He implored me to go back to King's Landing with them and I refused vehemently.

"In light of my discordance he grabbed me before proceeding to tell me that I'd change my mind. As if slamming me against a tree by my throat was going to help," she muttered, rubbing the arm that had been injured subconsciously.

"He..." Robb's words turned to ashes in his mouth and he turned his horse, bringing Dorren in front of Alester to halt her completely. "Jeyne why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I knew it would elicit this sort of reaction," she told him sternly, gesturing to his rise.

"He hurt you Jeyne. Prince or not he should have answered for what he did," Robb insisted.

"And what would have happened? I've already been once before that I've overreacted when Steffon attacked me. No one believed me aside from my father. Do you know what that's like? He's the prince! It's his word against mine and my father's not here anymore," she snapped back, her cheeks turning pink. Realizing she'd lost her temper she turned her eyes into the trees. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lash out at you."

She was hurting, even then he noticed the way she drew her injured arm closed to her like a broken wing. The fact she'd even allowed this much was a gesture of extreme trust. The bitterness that he'd felt for not being told sooner, fled. "I believe you. My father would believe you. My mother believed you."

Jeyne glanced back at him tentatively.

"I promised to protect you while you were in Winterfell. If I had known how dire the situation was, I would have had Greywind go everywhere with you. I didn't think he'd lay hands on you," the words came from between his grit teeth. His suspicions of his cousin's jaded personality were even more blatant now. To think that the first evening in Winterfell, Robb had just thought it odd that Steffon was trying to get Jeyne to leave her room.

"I didn't think he'd do it either. I shouldn't have put it past him, he's an adult now and much larger than I am," she mumbled ruefully.

"Don't blame yourself," Robb scowled. "No man has the right to hurt you."

Jeyne let out a soft, almost pitiful laugh before glancing back up at him. "If only it were that simple," she told him, tugging at his heartstrings from the look she was giving him.

"You're safe now and Steffon is certainly not welcome back to Winterfell if he can't treat a lady civilly," Robb was staying his tongue for her sake, because if he expressed how he really felt then he'd had to condemn himself for speaking so poorly in her company.

"How you can refuse a prince harbor is he travels north is beyond me," Jeyne said lightly, steering Alester around him and back down the path. "We came here for riding. I upheld my end of the bargain."

_Trying to deflect, _Robb thought before nodding, unable to stop himself from smiling. Dwelling on the subject was bringing out a side of Jeyne that he didn't like to see. Not because he thought it unbecoming of her, but due to the fact that he couldn't do anything but try and fix it with his words. He was no poet or singer and offering her a shoulder was too intimate for how long they had known each other. _We've known each other for years. It's just been a long time. _

A long enough time that she had bloomed into a lovely, clever, and admirable woman. How could he have known that the blonde falcon that came north with his cousins would be more than the bookworm with messy hair? He had recalled how she had never combed it, put it in any fashion, and left it down and staticy. She'd sit out in the yard with a new book on her lap everyday, sneaking away from the septa that accompanied her, somewhat like Arya. He even remembered Theon stealing her book and holding it out of her grasp. She had been so short that just holding it above her head had been too high for her too reach.

"_So what's this one about? Probably dashing knights and dragons. A romance novel about a maiden in trouble,_" Theon had said, turning the binding over to look at title, only to find that it was a book about herbs. "_Uhg, even worse. Ow!" _Jeyne had kicked him in the shin, sending the book tumbling to the ground where she collected it and scurried away. She'd even looked at him, wondering why he hadn't done anything to help, but Robb had been too busy trying to keep Steffon occupied. Back then, Steffon was even more talkable, raving about swords and legends, how he'd be a king just as good as his father.

_Where did the time go? Where did that boy go? _The same place that the messy little lady had. They'd all grown up and now the girl with messy hair had a smirk cocked as him as she prepared to dig her heels back into her horse. For a moment he saw the girl again, her clear blue eyes still filled with the same amusement even after all these years. Scenarios that had never played out in his head now confronted him in the flesh. When Lyanna had passed, he thought that was the last time he'd see his cousins or the Lady Arryn who was now the Protector of the Vale. What else did she hide in that head of hers?

_The torment of King's Landing. The experience of managing the Vale. Even at her age she's been through a lot._

Robb kicked Dorren before Jeyne got too far ahead of him as they trekked deeper into the western wolfswood. Tree closed in around them, creating a verdant curtain of leaves and needles. What daylight there was barely made it down to the thick canopy and it was easy to lose track of time. However, it was becoming considerably darker than he expected. According to his mental clock, it still should have been early afternoon.

"Do you hear that?" Jeyne asked breathlessly, letting the scenery soak in.

Robb strained his ears, but all he heard were the typical birds and bugs chittering quietly. "No."

He swore that Greywind rolled his wolf eyes at him. "Sounds like water," Jeyne informed him, turning Alester toward a thinner but worn game trail. "Let's go see."

Dorren was a bit large for the trail, his belly scraping against tree branches as they headed between large trees. Jeyne's palomino had an easier time slipping down the path seeing that he was more slight. Around a bend and Robb didn't have eyes on her anymore. Clearing his throat, he set aside the strange anxiety that overcome him as he came round the turn as well. The path opened up and Dorren was no longer pressed between the trees. Spanning in front of him were slick riverstones that led to a bank. Crystal clear water that ran down from the mountains lapped gently over the stones. It was so quiet that Robb was astounded that she or Greywind heard it.

No, it wasn't the stream she had heard. Jeyne had left Alester by the bank and had already crossed the stream, using some of the stones that crested over the murmuring water to get to the other side. She had her bow with her, climbing up the opposite rocky outcropping, a flat stone, her petite silhouette outlined before she disappeared again.

_Not again, _Robb thought irritably before leaving Dorren beside Alester. He lacked the grace of his riding partner and stepped right into the icy water, his boot soaked all the way through. Scrabbling on the opposite bank he climbed over the platformed boulders and found that Jeyne was waiting at the bottom, her head turned up to the waterfall that was crashing down in front of her, a rich sapphire pool disturbed by the falling water. Finally, Robb caught up to her, ignoring his chilled foot as she bent over and picked up a flat river stone. Each were smooth and round, but this particular one was thin.

With a flick of her wrist she sent it skipping across the surface until it smacked into one of the large rippled from the falls and plunked into the sapphire depths. No word was spoken as she took a seat and picked up another rock, tossing it in her hand, glancing up at him.

Understanding, Robb took a seat and watched as she skipped her second stone.

"You're rather good at that," he remarked.

"I'm good at a lot of things," she quipped, the third nearly making it to the waterfall.

"Being modest seems to be among that list," Robb smirked, drawing a wry glance from her.

"Modesty has a time and a place. Give it a try then," she tossed him a suitable stone.

Reflexively, Robb caught it with ease and trying to recall the twist of her wrist, made his own attempt. It skipped a couple of times, but nothing nearly as impressive as what she had been doing.

"It's not about how hard you throw it. It's technique. You can use a bow with a lot of weight on the string, but it's useless unless you have the skill to aim it properly. Watch again," she gestured, the movement of her wrist was fluid and snappy, little movement in her arm and moreso behind the technique of her wrist. He noticed the skirt of her gown spilled around her, revealing the trousers she was wearing.

Robb attempted again, still using too much of his arm behind it. "So what are your plans?" Robb asked her as he found another stone to try again, his eyes set forward toward the waterfall. She had also resumed, her skips reaching much further.

"My plans? What do you mean?" Jeyne inquired.

"You're not expected to stay at Winterfell forever," Robb reminded her.

"My father's wish was for me to be here."

"And that's why you're here, but it's not permanent unless-" this toss went straight down, completely botched.

"Unless I married some northern lord or lordling?" she filled in and Robb was keenly aware of her stare.

Picking up a new stone without looking at her, he nodded.

"I'm not getting any younger and I'm certainly in my prime for… that. I have my suspicions of what my father intended, but he wouldn't have presumed to force me into it."

"And what's that?" he was dancing delicately around the subject.

"Don't play coy with me Robb. Don't turn into that demure lady I just warned you about," she cocked a brow at him. "If you're interested in my hand, you could just say that."

"I didn't want to be hasty," he smiled into his lap at her bluntness. "Especially after what you just shared with me earlier."

"I'm not afraid of men. Else I wouldn't have gone riding with you alone. I've had more support from men in my life than women… My father, the Royces, Maester Helliwig," she set the stone in her hand down and frowned slightly. "And it's only a matter of time before prospective suitors from the north begin showing up at Winterfell. I am the eldest child of a realm without a lord. Robyn is young and sickly and with winter coming, there's a chance the cold will take him as it did my mother. What then? Anyone who marries me has the chance of becoming the Lord of the Vale."

"If your Valemen as just as loyal as you claim, you would be Lady of the Vale. Any man you choose could not overshadow you," Robb snorted, disliking the idea that more men would arrive with the intentions of convincing of Jeyne they were worthy husbands.

"I'm not that big, it's rather easy to overshadow me," she jested.

"Even a small person can cast a large shadow."

Jeyne scoffed, but did not deny his words. "I'm afraid too," she admitted honestly.

"Why?" Robb's furrowed at her admission.

"Because I'm not typical. I'm not sweet and willowy. I can posture as a lady when needed, but… I'm more of this," she motioned to herself as she was then. "I like to command, I like to count, I like managing. I can be… blunt and stubborn. I've undermined a lot of men and I've come to realize that most don't like being told straight to their face that they're wrong. My opinions are not a secret and my attitude is enough to get me into trouble. Some prize me as a martyr, but I don't really know if that's something to be proud about."

"Sounds like the competition isn't going to be as staunch as I thought."

Jeyne rolled her eyes at him. "I'm telling you because of your interest. You might find me interesting now, but I'm worried about months down the line… _Years_."

"Jeyne," he sighed. "I'm not trying to pressure you into any premature decisions. Your hand is your own to decide, your father gave you that gift with his last breath. But it's the fact that you aren't like other ladies that intrigues me. I'm tired of the shy ladies that try to win my affections over by a dance at a feast or smiles hidden behind sleeves. You're honest and forthcoming. Perhaps it is too early, but I'm not daunted. Not yet."

"Well…" she exhaled a deep breath. "Good luck. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Before Robb could think of a clever remark, a loud clap resounded through the sky above them. Now the darkening sky made more sense as the heavens rumbled and without warning, opened up on them. They hadn't so much as climbed to their feet before they were each soaked through to the skin, scaling the rocks back to the stream. They crossed to find their horses had retreated to the tree line to try and shelter from the rain. A terrible gust of wind cause Jeyne to slip on the stones, her hair whirling around her madly.

Robb grabbed her arm and hauled her back to her feet as they found their horses.

"Robb, we can't ride through this!" Jeyne shouted over the din of the wind, rain, and thunder.

She was right, the trees were bending and groaning under the strain of the wind. The tight path back to the main trail would be precarious, especially for Dorren. "We need to find somewhere to shelter for the worst of it," Robb told her, glancing around through the torrential pouring. Dread suddenly filled him when he glanced at the stream, realizing how rapidly it was filling from the rain. The bank expanded up quite far and suspicion crept over him. "We need to find high ground now!"

Without waiting for her, he seized her arm sternly and began dragging her along with him. The horses didn't like it, but they were forced down the thin winding game path. Trees bent toward them with twisted branches trying to claw at them, wailing like banshees in the wind. Squinting through the carnage, Robb saw an opening. If she was trying to speak to him, he did not hear, only focused on one thing. Taking the path less traveled by, the winding path led them to a weirwood tree. Most other trees didn't grow directly on top of the weirwood due to how far the root system branched out. Juxtaposing the weirwood was a bolder which ivory roots had grown over, creating a gnarled alcove.

"Get under there, I'll tie up the horses," Robb ordered, gesturing to the tiny shelter the weirwood provided.

Jeyne spared a glance at him, her hair plastered to here face, but gave a resigned nod before scurrying away. Up alongside of the weeping face of the weirwood stood an area where the trunk obscured the majority of the wind. The thick crimson canopy provided a decent amount of shelter for the horses and he secured them in front of the weeping face of the tree to be watched by the gods.

When he approached the nook where Jeyne was he realized he had sorely misjudged the amount of space within. Jeyne was huddled within, her knees up to her chest as she glanced around desperately for a way to make room for him. "Just… Just get in here!" she grabbed him by his jerkin and gave him the space against the stone to place his back. He had enough room to unfurl his legs, but now Jeyne had no space, back out in the elements. Despite the situation it put them in, they both understood what it meant.

Robb took Jeynes hand and she sat between his legs, her back pressed against his chest. Her proximity was intoxicating, but Robb tried to still his heart as he glanced outside their shelter. Hell had broken out in a matter of minutes and the rain continued to fall with belligerent consistency. The trees outside saying and bowed more than Robb thought was possible. He couldn't imagine trying to ride through them when they moved as is possessed by disturbed spirits.

Jeyne shivered and Robb subconsciously wrapped his arms around her. Their clothes were soaked all the way through and there was no room to create a fire. He kept his eyes listing in the glade as they waited out the storm, the sky growing ever darker. He wasn't aware when he dozed off, but when he awoke to Greywind nosing his face. The wolf let out a huff of hot breath in Robb's face and he glanced down at Jeyne who was cradled in his arms. They were both still wet, but the storm had stopped, the fleeting tendrils of dusk their last light before a cold night.

"Jeyne… Jeyne we've got to get moving," Robb nudged her, trying to stir her from her slumber. Her head lolled and when he saw her face her lips were blue and her face incredibly pale. "N-no. Jeyne? Jeyne can you hear me?" Robb took her face in his hands, her skin freezing to the touch. Panic seized him, he knew the signs of hypothermia.

"C-c-cold," she chattered slowly blinking her eyes open, quivering slightly as she gave him a hazy look.

"We're going back to Winterfell now," he told her, pulling them out of the nook. He carried her to the horses, securing Alester to Dorren with a lead. Jeyne sagged in the saddle as he hoisted her up first. He was also cold, but he was better adjusted to the north than she was. His hands were icy and slow moving, but he managed to get up on his horse with Jeyne seated in front of him. "Greywind," he called, his eyes desperately seeking his wolfin partner for help.

The direwolf bounded toward the trees and glanced back for him to follow. Robb kicked Dorren forward, hurrying him along to press after Greywind. Views that he had last thought were scenic and beautiful had been marred from the storm and blurred past him as he rode dangerously to try and beat the clock. Once they were back on the main path he snapped Dorren's reins again and pushed him harder. Blood pounding in his ears, the chill fled from body and he breathed heavily, nerves fraying as he held Jeyne close to him.

The hunter's gate was open and he passed through, the light of the day nearly gone. Torches lit the yard and he dismounted, not caring where the horses went as he stopped a guard. "Get Maester Lewin," Robb demanded as he stormed toward the Guest House, Jeyne in his arms shivering uncontrollably. He didn't have to wait long once he arrived at Jeyne's chambers.

"We got caught out in the storm. We managed to find shelter but not after getting soaked by the rain," Robb explained as he laid Jeyne on the bed. He'd made certain to have the fire roaring.

Lewin picked at dress. "She's soaking wet still," he observed.

Greywind shook his fur and climbed onto the bed, curling up close to her. Lewin stepped outside, summoning a nearby female servant to help strip Jeyne down. Robb stepped out while they worked to preserve her modesty, his own fingers trembling as he rubbed them together. Minutes passed leaning up against the wall before Lewin cracked the door back open and motioned for Robb to enter.

"She'll be fine, just needs a bit rest. Elayne has gone ahead and put a bed warmer beneath her sheets, but she's going to fill some more up. However, Greywind is perhaps the best source of heat for her. Her shaking has stopped and I've also changed the wraps on her arm. Someone will need to make certain that the fire it kept high," Lewin explained, referring to the pans filled with coals that were often put under sheets at the end of the bed to warm toes.

"I'll do it," Robb offered immediately.

Lewin swept his eyes over him, considering, and then nodded. "Strip down and lay your outer layers out by the fire. You're still wet too Robb and pale. The room will heat up enough that your tunic and trousers will dry with them," the maester instructed. "If her condition worsens, I'll be just a call away."

"Thank you Maester Lewin," Robb sighed, the maester leaving him alone with Jeyne. Her hair was fanned out around her on the pillow and color was returning to her face. Unlacing his jerkin, he stripped down to his cotton tunic and trousers, kicking his boots to the hearth he pulled the desk chair up beside the bed and propped his chin on his fist as he leaned forward.

"Robb?" Jeyne's voice cracked hoarsely.

He lifted his head and glanced over at her. "You should be resting."

She forced a comical smirk. "I'm fond of you too," she confessed.

Robb laughed at her softly, realizing that Jeyne was probably not fully awake. Perhaps feverish while she recovered and slightly delirious. He hefted himself to his feet to check her temperature, which was a bit warm, but nothing to be worried about. By the time he put his hand to her, she'd dozed back off. "Time will tell," he murmured before taking his seat to sit vigil.


	7. Chapter 7

_Catelyn_

Catelyn never wished anyone ill, least of all the girl she wanted Robb to marry. A simple ride had turned into a mess and Jeyne, due to her small stature, had returned hypothermic. Robb had refused to leave her side, even though he'd been in the same weather, propped up in a chair as he watched over her. She'd come to deliver a set of blankets for him in the night, noticing how old her son as grown over the years. She thought she noticed a change in him from just the few short weeks that Jeyne had been staying with them. When had her baby turned into a handsome man with a beard and auburn curls? Her eyes slid over to Jeyne who was peaceful in her sleep, considerably more innocent and lacking the smooth mask she wore publicly.

_Oh you fool, you've already fallen in love with her, _she thought glancing at her sleeping son as he sat in the chair covered in the furs she had just brought. His hair was a mess, he'd barely cleaned himself up from being stuck in the storm. Catelyn smiled in spite of herself. She'd been worried at first, but now she just craved to see the pieces fall in place. Bending down, she kissed her son on his brow and left the chambers. Robb needed a strong woman, one who could think for herself, and Jeyne needed a man who would love her for her faults and strengths, seeing the value in her intelligence. The wolf and the falcon united. Ned had wanted it from the beginning and Catelyn was jumping onto the bandwagon late.

She traveled back to the Great Keep and to her chambers to find Ned by the fire. They hadn't been given the chance to fall in love before their betrothal, but she'd always been happy with the turn of events. Forging their relationship link by link, it was stronger than that of a quick passionate love. Just before her very eyes she saw Robb and Jeyne doing the same. When she approached Ned she noticed that he was dwelling, his brows heavy over his long face as he gazed into the flames.

"What is it, my love?" Catelyn asked, wrapping her arms around him from the side.

Ned took her into his arms, almost as if they were half their age again. He opened one hand and a piece of parchment unfurled from it. He never kept anything from her, as she nothing from him. Taking the letter, she scanned it over a few times.

"But we have Theon," Catelyn breathed, astounded by the news that the ironborn had taken Flint's Finger. Men had been sent south to handle this and either they had not arrived in time or they too had fallen under the siege. Why would they dispute the peace? But the bottom of the note indicated why. Balon Greyjoy had not attacked them, it was his brother Euron claiming himself as king. "Balon, what happened to Balon?"

"I don't know, but Euron is in command of the Iron Islands now. Theon is meaningless to him and will buy us little leverage," she knew what Ned was leaning toward, why he had been brooding by the fire.

"And are there any reports of the ironborn harrying the Riverlands or the Westerlands?"

"No, they've made it clear that the north is their primary target. This isn't simply pillaging and leaving, they've set up host in Flint's Finger," Ned reported darkly. "If Flint's Finger is allowed to fester, they'll grow bolder and move onward. I need to go south before they try moving up river to Torrhen's Square or Barrowton."

Pursing her lips she nodded. How many times had she seen Ned off to war? Worrying about whether or not her husband would return to her alive or dead? He'd already sent men to address the issue and they had failed. Now he would have to summon a larger host and march himself to meet the ironborn upstart. With how south the meeting with King Robert had gone, he couldn't request aid south of the Twins unless he was going to implore with her father to use the men of the Riverlands as a distraction. For now, the issue was not yet severe enough to risk exposing the north's weakened state after one of their main forts was taken.

"Then you'll be summoning the banners?" Catelyn muttered quietly.

"The western ones, yes," Ned agreed, leaving more questions hanging heavy in the air. "Robb should come with me."

Already it was more than enough that Ned was going to be leaving her again, but to think that he was going to bring her eldest son made her sick. Even if she had just thought about mature Robb had become, he was still to young to go to battle. "But… Lady Jeyne," Catelyn tried to come up with an excuse. "If Robb leaves suitors from other houses will come. Domeric Bolton… Any of the Karstark sons. They're not participating in this bout," she reminded him, clinging to the idea that this might keep Robb in Winterfell. Ned had been fond of the idea of them marrying and if he separated them so early into their bonding, it was possible that another suitor would supplant themself.

"I want Lady Jeyne to come as well," Ned said stoutly causing Catelyn to gasp.

"_What? _Ned are you mad?" she reached up and pressed her fingers to his brow, checking his temperature.

Ned reached up and took her hand in his. "The girl is more experienced than Robb when it comes to squashing rebellions. Or have you forgotten that she personally led her own people against the Hill Tribes in the Vale? Her perspective would be highly valued," he paused to consider her. "And I also do not think it wise to separate Robb from her. I'm not as blind you may think I am."

"War isn't exactly the place for courting," Catelyn grimaced, still not favoring the idea.

"If you could have been beside me, safe in a basecamp the entire time, would you?" Ned posed the question.

Catelyn had been pregnant at the time, but if she hadn't been… Perhaps. Maybe she could have kept Ned from cheating on her and creating the bastard boy. "If Jeyne is going to remain in basecamps away from the fighting then…" she exhaled deeply, trying to fathom how this was going to work. Women were not scant in war camps. In fact, whores followed them around to quell their desires. On the other hand, high born ladies were uncommon, but if Ned chose her to be one of the advisors there was little she could do to deter him otherwise. All she could hope was that Jeyne might decline the offer and resign to staying in Winterfell.

_She won't, _Catelyn thought with dismay. "And what happens if one of them dies? If Robb dies? Or if Jeyne dies and Robb can't save her?" she challenged, feeling heat rise in her chest and surface to her face. Pressing her face into Ned's neck she tried not to imagine either of them dead, but the worst situations kept twisting to her mind in cruel nightmares.

"That won't happen," Ned promised solemnly.

"They could both stay here safe. Robb could take over as Lord of Winterfell while you're gone," she argued.

"He needs this. He's not a boy anymore Cat," Ned shook his head.

"So then the duty falls to me. While I worry sick about all of you, I also have to take care of Winterfell," she wasn't trying to sound the victim, but the conversation was taking a turn she did not like.

"You've done it multiple times before and Sansa is here to aid you," Ned reminded her. "No ill will befall them. Robb is a spectacular swordsman and he won't be on the front lines-"

"I don't want to talk of this anymore Ned," Catelyn whispered, bringing an abrupt end. She would have to visit the sept everyday from now on to pray for them. Before they left, while they were gone, and until they returned.

_Jeyne_

Last she remembered they had been sheltering from the storm, which had blown out of nowhere. Their clothes had been soaked through in a matter of minutes and they were forced to try and find a place to hide while the worst of it passed overhead. When she had passed out, she had no idea what transpired, because she woke back up in her bed in Winterfell. With a start, she sat up, Greywind lifting his massive head to look at her. Beside her, Robb was slumped in his chair, his hair messily stuck to his head and he was covered in furs. Beside the fireplace, his boots and outerwear had been laid out to dry.

_What_... she thought, glancing around as she felt hot from how the fire had been piled high. She recalled very little other than huddling close against Robb, her skin freezing from the wind and water. Realization dawned on her, why she not woken up; she had become hypothermic. Her eyes slid over to Robb, wondering how he had fared. _Well enough to get me back to Winterfell_, she thought, Greywind licking her fingers as she sat up in bed.

Yesterday had been a heavy day. A day that she had betrayed more of herself than she had dared since her father. Even then, there was only so much that he father could understand seeing how much older he was than her. She cocked her head, feeling the grime on her skin and wished she could take a bath to remove it. She didn't want to disturb him, not after he had managed to get them both back to Winterfell safely. That had certainly been no small feat.

_I want to concede to him, I really do_, she thought desperately, pushing out a sigh. Her own self consciousness made her doubtful, even if Robb treated her as an equal, which was all she ever wanted. She didn't want to be viewed as a weak lady who only had words at her disposal. She'd accomplished so much... Aside from the whole hypothermia deal. Her cheeks flushed at the idea of falling prey to the cold. She was from the mountains, the cold shouldn't have bothered her so much. _It's my small stature. I'd fall prey to hypothermia well before Robb would_, she reminded herself, trying to use logic to lift her spirits.

"You're awake," Robb observed, startling her. He was blinking his eyes slowly, his rich eyes setting on her.

"As are you," she retorted. "Hypothermia I presume?" she motioned to herself and the fresh chemise she had been reduced to. Her brows pulled together when she considered it and she gave him a suspicious look.

Robb read her mind. "Maester Lewin had a servant strip you down," he told her swiftly, but paused to consider her. A smirk appeared on his face that made gooseflesh prickle against her arms, though not in an unpleasant way. "But you did say something interesting last night."

Her eyes remained narrowed, waiting for him to divulge the information. However, Robb rolled down the blankets and placed his hands on his lap. The collar of his linen tunic was folded down and she could see a slip of the smooth skin on his chest. She averted her eyes, it was rather hot in the room, wasn't it? "And?" she huffed finally.

"I don't know if I should tell you. Clearly you don't remember," the curve of his lips, his river blue eyes on her.

"Whatever I said when I was lucid could have been a manifestation of my subconscious mind. What did I say?" she prompted, hoping that the burning of her cheeks was not obvious. When she was fully clothed and not recovering of yet another ailment, she had the fullness of her confidence behind her. Her mask would not falter... At least not in public. Each time she was with Robb he had a way of making her speak more than she preferred. There was something about him, just as there was about all of the Starks. She trusted them unlike the Baratheons. They had no hidden motives.

Robb's smile only grew. "If you truly wish to know I will tell you," he drew a breath she considered dramatic for him. "You might have admitted to being fond of me."

"Well of course I'm fond of you," Jeyne scowled.

"I don't think you meant it in that manner," Robb mused.

_Of course I didn't. We were talking about marriage yesterday_, she thought, trying to think of a quick comeback. "Can you read minds?" a poor retort, she was backpedalling in the conversation, finding herself backed into a proverbial corner.

"I cannot, but I know you have a sense of pride too keen to lie to me," he shrugged, standing up and setting the blankets in a pile on the chair. She was too distracted by him to fuss over the mess. She despised messes. Robb arched his back and flexed his shoulders, having been stiff from sleeping in a chair. The thin tunic rose and revealed part of his stomach, hard compact abs the muscles outline against his skin, a trail of hair that went down to his trousers. Again, she was staring and this time she got caught. "Jeyne," Robb purred huskily, her face turning more red than a tomato.

Crossing her arms like a petulant child and snapping her head away she huffed. "You're right, I don't lie," she sniffed. "But I warned you yesterday of my demeanor. Being fond of one another is not enough."

"But it's a beginning," Robb pointed out, retreating to the hearth so he could pull his boots on begin lacing up his leather jerkin. He had just tossed his cloak around his shoulders when she considered how uncomfortable he must have been all night.

"Robb... Thank you," she told him as he was adjusting the crisscrossing straps on his cloak. Her words went deeper than her gratitude for him bringing her back to Winterfell. "For dragging me back here, for listening to me-"

"You're not very heavy," Robb jested as he got himself into order. "I wanted to know. I _want_ to know. I care for you."

Even if she was blatantly aware of this, it still made her blush. "That much is clear from your actions yesterday."

"Was I supposed to leave a lady in the woods?" Robb smirked at her.

"Well, no... but you didn't have to stay with me all night, especially seeing you also were subjected to the same weather," she pointed out.

Robb stepped toward her and picked up her hand. His fingers were rough and calloused. Hers were soft for the most part aside from where she worked with a bow, her fingertips hard. "Do I have to repeat myself again?"

"No," Jeyne resigned herself as he lifted her hand and kissed it, his beard scratching against it. Her heart flickered, a gesture she'd experienced multiple times before without any reaction. His eyes boring into hers, she cleared her throat and he finally released her. _Curse him_, she thought as he stepped away, his smile alerting her that he knew he'd hit a nerve with her.

"I hope to see you later today, my lady," Robb bid before he headed to the door, Greywind giving a final lick of her hand and departing with his master. When the door clicked shut and she flopped back into bed with an exasperated groan. Falling for Robb Stark? Her fingers picked at the sheets and her cheeks flushed at the thought of him. After her years of poor matches, obnoxious suitors, and Steffon the gods had finally put a man in her path that might have a chance. She wasn't overtly romantic, King's Landing had soured that fruit for her, but Robb had been given multiple chances to do the wrong thing and he always surprised her.

She glared at the ceiling, almost as if she could gaze at the sky above and into the heavens where her father was. _You know. I tried to be nonchalant about it, but you knew. How did you always know?_ she thought, noting that she'd like to visit the sept later to pay her respects. Her father had always known her best, perhaps more than she knew herself. The reminder of him made her sniffle.

Jeyne regained her composure before she summoned a servant to have the copper tub filled for her. The mineral filled spring water of Winterfell seeped through her skin and into her bones. She dismissed the servant girl and eased herself into the water to scrub the day's worth of travel off. With a sponge she lathered it up with soap and lavender oil. Baths had always been therapeutic, a time where she could take a straight razor and clean herself of hair and dead skin. She's noticed since arriving in Winterfell that her skin was soft and radiant, presuming that the minerals in the water help rejuvenate her. It worked wonders on her calloused feet and saddle sores.

Jeyne decided to curl her hair that morning, spending a little extra time being vain as she twisted her wet hair around clips. She spent time by the fire grooming herself while her hair dried. She always made certain that she was dressed respectably, not a piece of hair out of place or wrinkle in her dresses. First impressions were important as well as upkeeping an air of collectedness. Riding clothes were another matter, but when she was Jeyne the Lady, she made certain to be flawless.

She had few dresses that were not of her house colors or riding gowns. With the temperature progressing slowly to cooler and cooler, she was leaning toward the layered brocade gowns and had put an order into have more made that were suitable for winter. Still preferential to colors in the wheelhouse of green and blue, she went with a seafoam embroidered in pearly white thread, printed with the moons and falcons. The fabric cinched her waist before falling down in a this curtain. She hated trains and all of her gowns were tailored to fall right over her feet. The only thing special about the pale green gown was that it had a lovely neckline that slid down in a narrow 'V' shape to reveal her collar and slightly between her breasts.

Securing her cloak around her shoulders, she began working the clips from her hair and let her pale blonde tresses fall in luminous curls down her shoulders and back. She didn't spoil them by tying them up or creating some intricate hairstyle. Instead, she left them loose and bouncing, finishing her ensemble by dabbing on some perfume. After cleaning her room and leaving the additional blankets on the edge of the bed, she let out a low huff of delight and exited her chambers. Having given herself a full spa treatment, it was nearly noon by then and despite her run in with nearly freezing to death, Jeyne felt nothing other than hunger.

Part way through the courtyard, Jeyne crossed paths with young Lady Sansa and her companion Jeyne Poole.

"Oh, Lady Jeyne I'm so happy to see you're feeling better. I heard you'd just gone riding with Robb only to fall ill from the rain," Sansa greeted, her face turned in worry as she inspected her.

With a wry twist of her lips, she nodded. "Yes, the weather was quite... ironic. However, I feel well today aside from the hunger pangs."

"That's good, I was very worried," Sansa looked just as concerned as she claimed. The girl had been partial to her the moment she stepped into Winterfell. It was almost as if Sansa thought Jeyne was a model figure of a southron lady. "Perhaps we can find time to sit and do some needlework and chat."

Jeyne saw right Sansa's intentions. At this point it would appear as if Robb was courting her. Was Robb courting her? _I suppose he is, _she thought. Sansa would want to know all about Jeyne's affections and what Robb was doing to impress her. Living in her own romantic fantasy, Sansa would grab every chance she had to live vicariously through someone. Unfortunately for her, Jeyne was not the sort to kiss and tell… or court and tell. She preferred keeping personal matters to herself.

"Of course, maybe later today," Jeyne agreed, though she would have preferred to decline. She had to keep up a certain image and that meant not always doing what she wanted. Arya was much better company than Sansa, certainly much more interesting. "I will send for you late, Lady Sansa."

Diverging from the young girls she made her way to the kitchens which were sweltering when compared to outside. Jeyne was fond of the brisk weather, which did not have the same ripping wind of the mountains. She was inclined to the cold versus the subtropical heat of the south. She found it to be sticky and unpleasant, not to mention wearing dresses with sleeves was almost a crime due to how much you would sweat. Ever the clean freak, Jeyne had been bathing twice a day to try and keep herself pristine.

Gage was a robust man in a smock, his daughter Turnip scurrying out of view when she entered. He wasn't too taken aback to see her as she would often harvest ripened vegetables and fruit for him when she noticed them in the Glass Gardens. Since he'd mistaken her for a servant due to wearing a roughspun dress in the greenhouse, Gage was always trying to make up for his embarrassing blunder.

"My lady," he greeted quickly.

"Good afternoon Gage," she returned with a smile, glancing around to see what he had been working on. She could smell the fresh bed slathered with a layer of honey and pastries he had cooling on the counter. "I was wondering if I could pilfer some food from you. I have no doubt you heard of my adventure yesterday and due to it, I haven't eaten in over a day."

Word traveled fast in Winterfell, the servants always gossiped among themselves, and whatever Eddard Stark did not know, he would soon be informed. Gage nodded eagerly. Arya had once told her how the head chef hated her and would chase her or Bran out with a wooden spoon for trying to steal lemon cakes or honey bread. "I've got some venison stew over the fire and some bread fresh from the oven. I hope that will please you, my lady."

"Oh that sounds wonderful, Gage," Jeyne could have eaten raw dough at this point.

Gage found a stool for her to sit on and fetched her a piping bowl of venison stew. Northern food was hearty, spiced with only herbs that grew locally; thyme, sage, rosemary, or parsley. Aside from the venison, there was potatoes, carrots, turnips, celery, onions, and fennel diced and added for flavor. He also delivered a plate with fresh honey bread and black bread for dipping in the soup.

"It looks divine, thank you Gage," Jeyne told him as he left her by a counter to enjoy the first hot meal she'd had in a few days. By the time food had delivered to her room, it was either lukewarm or cold. She scalded her tongue on the soup, but savored every drop of it. She must have startled Gage with her appetite, because when he returned to check on her he was astounded to see that she had devoured it. After thanking him again, Jeyne flounced off to go find the sept.

When compared to that in King's Landing, the sept in Winterfell was little more than a shed. Jeyne wasn't surprised, as the primary religion this far north was that of the Old Gods. This one had only been built when Eddard had married Catelyn and despite its size, Jeyne thought it had more charm than the Sept of Baelor. She'd always had a great distaste for exuberance displayed in wealth and King's Landing was a prime example of coin poisoning a religion.

She's met Septon Chayle once before when she had arrived, but had not gotten the chance to go too many times. Sparing him a kind smile she approached the altar of the Stranger and lit a candle for her father. Taking position on the bench, Jeyne fixated her thoughts on Jon Arryn, her father. Even after their years of separation, he in King's Landing and she in the Vale, he still knew her like a bard to a lyre. He knew Eddard was a good man that would protect her, that leaving her in the Vale would cause tension between her and Lysa, and that she did need to marry to secure her position and safety. The man he'd raised as a son in the Vale beside Robert Baratheon was the clear choice, seeing that Robert had already failed Jeyne once.

_The choice is my own, but he always knew that I'd do my duty, _Jeyne thought, glancing up at the wooden hewn statue of the Stranger. He hadn't even met Robb Stark. Not since he'd been beneath ten. Was he hoping that Robb would be like his father? Jeyne saw similarities between Eddard and Robb, but Eddard was more stoic, more difficult to read. Robb was… Robb was courteous, amusing, caring, perceptive, protective, responsible, humorous, a bit stoic at times like his father, and intelligent.

_I miss you so much, I wish you were here, _Jeyne thought feeling her eyes burn as she scrunched them shut. _If you could just give me a sign. A sign that this right and you're watching. Please…. _

She waited, her eyes closed as she prayed to the Stranger, but there was no answer. With a low sigh, she stood up and decided to light a candle for the Maiden too. There was no dwelling on this spot as she knelt and stared curiously at the Maiden. When had been the last time since she prayed the Maiden? She couldn't even recall. The Warrior, the Smith, and the Crone had always been her primary three that she spent time devoting to. Jeyne had only thought to light one since she was being courted. Wasn't that was she was supposed to do? Hope that everything would go swell and the Maiden would be smiling on her?

Jeyne stayed there briefly, trying not to put too much thought as to overthink what was going on between her and Robb. She bid farewell to Septon Chayle and stepped outside. Surprisingly, the sky had cleared a bit and she had to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight that beat down over the top of Winterfell and baked the grey stones of the Great Hall and Great Keep which were nearby. A shrill whistle above her made her snap her head up, all too familiar with the cry of a falcon.

A grin spread across Jeyne's face as she watched one sail over Winterfell, letting out another cry. _Father… _she thought, glad that a sign had been sent. He was watching her.

"Lady Jeyne," Ser Andar's voice traveled across the yard. He was striding toward her, the first time she'd gotten to see him after a while. He'd been paying council to Eddard and had believed Winterfell safe for the most part. Jeyne had refused the knowledge of Steffon's attack to spread to him, knowing that Ser Andar would only blame himself for not being at her side.

"Nice to see you again, ser," she grinned, still elated from the falcon she had seen.

"I wasn't keen on catching whatever illness you had, my lady," Ser Andar jested before finally meeting her.

"It's fine," she dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "More importantly, how are you faring sitting with Lord Eddard?"

"I can see much of your father in him. It's no wonder he wanted you to come here," Andar gave her the short version, but she could see the excitement on his face. Since leaving the Vale he'd not got to use his skills of commanding or knowledge of land navigation for much. Lord Eddard was clearly keeping him occupied. "Speaking of which, Lord Eddard has summoned a council in the Great Hall."

"Oh, then is this goodbye already?" Jeyne mused with a feigned frown.

"No, I came seeking you, my lady. Lord Eddard wishes you to be a part of said council."

"Really?" her brows furrowed, but she shrugged. "Very well…"

Joining Ser Andar, she followed him to the Great Hall. All of the spare tables had been removed, leaving a rather cavernous area open aside from a single round table by the enormous hearth which was roaring despite the decent weather outside. Her eyes slid along the faces, labeling them as she did; Vayon Poole, Jory Cassel, Rodrik Cassel, Hullen, Robb, and Lord Eddard. No Catelyn or any other women were present, only two chairs remaining, which meant they were reserved for her and Andar.

Ser Andar pulled her chair out for her and Jeyne was seated next to Ser Rodrik Cassel on her left and Andar to her right. Across the round table Lord Eddard was adjacent to his son and Vayon. Robb spared her a small glance, but there was no mischief or hint of their conversation earlier in the day. Rather, he was glancing among everyone. Jeyne could feel the tension heavy in the air as the hall was closed and they were left to discuss.

"Now that we've all have gathered, I'd like to begin the arrangement and news we've received," Lord Eddard entreated, beginning the council meeting. "As many of you are aware, the ironborn have become increasingly bold of the past month. Last we were discussing the pillaging on the south western shores of the region. Lord Flint of Flint's Finger had entreated me for men to try and stave off the attacks. Just yesterday we received a declaration from Euron Greyjoy that he was the King of the Iron Islands and had taken Flint's Finger."

"We sent five hundred men south to meet them," Rodrik reminded him, his whiskers twitching in despair from the news.

"Which wouldn't compare much to the full strength of the ironborn if they truly wanted to take a small castle," Ser Andar pointed out darkly. "And Euron Greyjoy is aware that his nephew is your ward, correct?"

"Euron Greyjoy has been away for some time. I'm not entirely certain when he returned or where Balon is, but Euron is leading these attacks. I doubt that Balon would allow his younger brother to deem himself king without having his own penny to put in," Rodrik replied evenly, now twisting his whiskers.

"I've summoned the western banners of the north," Lord Eddard declared, drawing glances around the tables. "Sending men south did not amount to much more than likely their untimely deaths. We're uncertain if the Flints of Flint's Finger are still alive and if they are, they need to be liberated. I intend on leading the host south to confront Euron. There is no king in Westeros aside from King Robert and this rebellion needs to be quelled before it spills out into the Westerlands or Riverlands."

_He doesn't want to call on aid. Not from Robert after he declined the position as Hand, _Jeyne realized.

"Has there been reports of the ironborn attacking either the Riverlands or Westerlands?" Jeyne inquired, speaking up for the first time.

"No, but the Westerlands are the closest to the Iron Islands, making it the obvious target. The Greyjoys are up to something," Vayon informed her stoutly.

Until they knew the true strength of what Euron Greyjoy had brought north with him, they had to prepare for the worst. Jeyne thought it would have been wise to summon all of the banners to be certain the ironborn were overwhelmed, especially since his eastern banners were the ones that possessed the most men.

"The plan thus far, until the other lords begin their arrival with their armies, is to march south to Flint's Finger to retake it," Eddard continued, affirmed with the nods of men around the table.

Jeyne thought this was a very straight approach. "If I recall correctly, the Blazewater Bay and Saltspear could also prove to be issues. Are the ironborn prone to staying in one place? Because it's very likely they'll put Flint's Finger to the torch and travel up river to take Moat Cailin or even risk Torrhen's Square if they become over confident. By the time the host were to be summoned, march south, and get to Flint's Finger their ships could have moved to either of the other holdfasts," she reasoned. Ships could move large sums of men much faster than they could march a host.

"They would have already put Flint's Finger to the torch if that's the case," Vayon suggested.

"And how do we know it hasn't been already?" Jeyne challenged.

Silence fell over the table, minds considering heavily what they should do. "Any castles in the direct vicinity of Flint's Finger accessed by bay or river needs to be considered at risk," Robb supported. "We need to split the host up, perhaps planting the Glovers at the aid of Torrhen Square. House Manderly could migrate some of their forces to bolster Moat Cailin. House Mormont should be informed to keep close eye on Deepwood Motte while the Glovers support the Tallharts. That would leave the eastern banners for us to utilize rather than the western. The Karstarks would come immediately at our aid, as would the Hornwoods. If we can stall the ironborn at these pivotal points, it would prevent another successful siege and give us time to march to wherever our aid is needed."

Feeding off of her own words, Robb's elaboration was better received than her disagreeing. "That would require calling more houses to arms than I would have preferred," Eddard started after clearing his throat. "But you both have brought up good points. Marching will take too long, especially around the Saltspear. Allocating the western houses would work…"

"I can send for men to come north from the Vale," Jeyne offered, drawing eyes. "I can't summon all of the power of the Vale, but I might be able to convince the Vale to part with House Royce."

"I can aid in delegating such an arrangement," Ser Andar quickly added.

"House Royce would be a powerful ally to add to our host, but I don't think it will be required," Eddard said.

"Euron Greyjoy is up to something more and I wouldn't put it past him to try to distract us with his siege at Flint's Finger," Jory muttered, siding with Jeyne.

She was thankful for the agreeing. "It would take House Royce a great deal of time to get here as it is. To rally their men and then march all the way here, but having mounted knights would be an asset. If we've already resolved the issue with the ironborn before they arrive, they can always be sent back to the Vale, but with delegating the bulk of your western forces to standing fast, they could be the reinforcements that we'll be vying for if the Greyjoys are planning an all out war," Jeyne implored.

Eddard nodded and sat back in his seat, his brows heavy and eyes brooding. She saw the same look on Robb from time to time, now she knew where he'd gotten it.

"There is only so much speculation we can make without a solid source over by Cape Kraken. Until the other houses arrive to sit council and we actually march south to see what is happening with our own eyes, no definite decisions can be made at this time aside from an outline of what our intentions are. We cannot take our entire host to Flint's Finger. That leaves too many open holes for the ironborn to slip down," Robb continued. "We have to expect that Euron is going to cause as much hell as possible. The ironborn have hundreds of longships. Longships that move faster than we can ride." Not to mention all the foot soldiers that would take even longer.

"Yes, I am aware," Eddard finally sat up. "As you stated, we have to wait until the rest of the banners arrive. I will send ravens to Karhold, Hornwood, and White Harbor as well. Keeping the Umbers and Bolton in place will assure that the eastern flank of the north remains solid."

Vayon, who had been recording some of the conversation that was going on, nodded slowly. "Then should we end the meeting here? We need additional input and to wait and see if anymore intel is received from Flint's Finger."

_I doubt it. Euron sent the last letter, so he's controlling what information goes out. It'll remain dark until we're lured out there, _Jeyne thought, smelling a trap. Flint's Finger was a distraction. What would be the bigger prize, Moat Cailin or Torrhen's Square?

"Yes, I wished to bring everyone up to speed on the situation and so that there would be time to dwell on strategies," Eddard rose first, followed by the rest of the table that stood at the behest of the Lord of Winterfell. "I will keep you all well informed regarding updates. The ironborn will not get away lightly for this stunt."

Everyone voiced their agreement before Eddard left, followed closely by Robb. Jeyne stood around the table with the men for a quiet moment, wondering why she had been invited. Clearly, Eddard had wanted her input on the situation, even if he had not seen eye to eye with her. Yet, if not for her connections to the Vale, then why? Had Robb put in word for her? The peculiarness of it all sat heavy on her shoulders as she left the Great Hall and was immediately ambushed by Lady Sansa.

_Dear gods, this girl, _Jeyne thought as she forced a smile, her mind still on the shadow of war that looming over them. Sansa stood in front of her brightly, unaware of the density of the conversation that had just taken place. Eddard may not have said it, but the words spoken in the council were not to be spread, shared, or touched upon where other ears could hear.

"Would you like to go for a walk? I've finished my lessons for the day and it's so wonderful out," Sansa suggested.

Jeyne preferred to have her walks alone, but she wasn't about to disappoint the pretty girl. "Certainly," Jeyne agreed, allowing Sansa to take her arm and tug her along eagerly.

"So," Sansa started sweetly, a tone of voice that set the atmosphere for the conversation. "My brother Robb is quite fond of you."

Jeyne had a snippy comeback for such an obvious observation, but she held her tongue. How did she approach this nicely? "Yes, he is rather good company."

"Has he… began courting you?" right for the kill, Sansa took a stab in the dark.

"A rather personal question, Lady Sansa," Jeyne mused, watching as the girl's face light up pink.

"Oh I didn't mean to pry, but I would just be so… ecstatic. I would love to have you as a sister one day."

Jeyne smiled at her wistfully. "A bit early to promise anything, but your family has been nothing but kind to me. Hopefully fate works in your favor."

"You're so lucky, Lady Jeyne. To decide who you wish to give your hand to," Sansa sighed, gazing up at the sky dreamily.

"I had to lose my father to be awarded such a 'gift'," Jeyne reminded her, but wondered if her fate would have been so different. What if her father had always intended this? Jeyne was just a pawn falling into her father's scheme without realizing. _I'd willingly fall into that scheme if it does work out between us._

Sansa wasn't as remorseful over the comment as she had been hoping. "But to _any_ man."

"Within reason. My father knew I would do the right thing," As High As Honor. She could not abandon all and marry some commoner because her father had awarded her her own hand. No, she needed to find a man of suitable or equal status.

"Robb is a good man. He would treat you fairly," Sansa said, returning to the topic of her brother.

"I know," Jeyne agreed with her on that. Robb was not in this for her name or what titles might come with it. He was from a family of equal prestige, but without all the gilding of the south. "It's more than just idle romance, Sansa. You must ask yourself many questions when considering a man to be your husband. Will he always treat you kindly? Will he always love you, despite your flaws? Will he accept you for how you are, good and bad? Will he be a good father? What are his ambitions and motives? And can you support them? For noble women like us, we don't always get positive answers for all those questions, as it is oft out of our hands. You are still not promised, but I implore you to think of such questions. I consider them everyday. Time is our worst enemy. Because while he might be fair in the beginning, months of years down the line that can switch."

Sansa chewed on the information she had just been dealt before eventually nodding. "And where does Robb fit in those questions?"

Jeyne laughed in spite of herself. "Robb's doing better than any suitors I've had before. Probably because he's not overbearing or too insistent. You might not believe it, but I'm not much of a romantic. I've already dealt with that in King's Landing and all those poems, flowers, and sweet words were nothing but ways to disguise a less than worthy man."

"You have a lot of experience with suitors. I wish I had more, but few comes to Winterfell. Not like King's Landing where lords from all over the south spend time there," Sansa seemed not to hear that Jeyne was not a romantic. Clearly, the girl was from the hazy way she fell into her daydreams.

"Trust me, you don't," Jeyne insisted. "They're like flies, always buzzing in your ear. No matter how much you swat them they keep returning."

Sansa was only listening to the parts of the conversation that interested her, not all of this hogwash that Jeyne was spewing about men not all being gallant and kind. She had to be prepared for the real world and Winterfell had certainly not prepared her to face it. The girl would have to listen to it repeatedly before she would start soaking it in. And to be honest, trying to convince Sansa was exhausting. On top of that, she couldn't get rid of Sansa. Not until Robb found them and Sansa perked up, giving Jeyne a knowing smile, before she pardoned herself and skirted away to leave the two 'lovebirds' together.

"You look exhausted," Robb observed.

"Yes, that happens when I repeat myself several times," Jeyne grumbled, straightening her back.

"And moody," he added lightly.

"Did you ask your father to put me on the council today?" Jeyne inquired, shifting the subject suddenly as they took a turn toward the Godswood.

"No, I was taken aback to see you there. I didn't know what the meeting was about, but my father has been including me more and more," Robb said honestly. "But he values the opinions of others and you made a good point. Taking all of our men in one group would not be wise. The ironborn can move more swiftly than we can on land as they on water. News of the host will travel down to them one way or another."

"Hm… yes…" she drawled before another thought dawned on her. "Theon."

"Doesn't know yet. However, he's to have grown suspicious. My father has started posting more guards around him," Robb replied.

"And how does that make you feel?"

"He was always a ward and I kept in the back of my mind that it was always possible that the ironborn would try and rise again. Seeing that the enemy is not his father, it may just be safer for him to stay here at Winterfell guarded. But, he is my friend and I do trust him."

"You shouldn't," Jeyne said immediately. "Even if you believe the years here have changed him, if you've always remembered he's a ward, Theon's been blatantly aware that he's a prisoner. The door to his cage might have been left open, but if given the chance to roam free, do you think he would take it?"

Robb let out a deep sigh, his face long and brows heavy over his eyes. "I'd like to think not, but Pyke _is _his home."

"People are fickle. You must always expect that they may do the opposite of what you hope," Jeyne didn't mean to put more dark thoughts in his head, but his close friend was related to the man that had sieged Flint's Finger. He needed to be objective and set his friendship aside until this all blew over.

"Should I think that of you too?" Robb's voice was deep and bitter.

"That depends. What is it you hope I do?" Jeyne knew this conversation could take a turn for the worse, but she stopped and faced him. So much was on both of their minds, but even though his attempt at nonchalance, she could see that the idea of Theon betraying him hurt. The godswood was dark, night nearly upon them as they paused among a thicket of trees.

Robb stared at her, through the dim light that remained and was fleeing. "I don't know," he mumbled turning his hand through his curls as he glanced away.

"I'll tell you what I won't do," Jeyne took a step forward and embraced Robb, her head just brushing beneath his chin. "I won't be leaving you anytime soon," she promised, her ear against his chest, his arms wrapping around her to envelope her in his warmth. Robb rested his chin on the top of her head and allowed himself to melt into her, standing in the still and peaceful forest.


End file.
